


Nightmares Really Do Come True

by scandalsavage



Series: Earth 3 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Brainwashing, Butt Plugs, Drugged Sex, Earth-3, F/M, Forced drugged sex, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Knifeplay, M/M, Mirror Sex, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Rough Oral Sex, Self-cest, Sexual Coercion, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, but even more messed up, i don't know how to tag, mentioned past child rape, mentioned past child sexual abuse, mostly talk to make other character uncomfortable, seriously this is a shitty world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage
Summary: Earth-3 is even worse than they thought it would be.I'm sorry. This is a terrible place where terrible things happen. Also, Cass is important and there are a couple explicit scenes with her but this is like 90% m/m.





	1. New Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been putting off the Tumblr thing because I don't really understand it. But I've decided to put in some effort to figure it out. So, it's not much right now, but here it is. Hit me up.
> 
> [ScandalSavage Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)

They’d been desperate. She’d been missing two weeks and they hadn’t found a single clue. Jason and Bruce were increasingly quiet and intense as they tried not to give into the creeping sense of despair. They had been everywhere, “spoken” to all their enemies. Even Dick was having a hard time remaining optimistic. Damian was more cantankerous than usual. It had been Tim who had finally found something. Mostly because he didn’t have any other ideas, he’d searched her apartment for any residual radiations or energy signatures from different universes. When his tests pinged Earth-3 he’d felt his stomach twist in fear and worry. That was probably the worst place she could be.

Not all of them could go, even though they all wanted to. Obviously, the Batman was going. Despite his eternally strained relationship with his daughter and his total trust in the boys he wasn’t going to stay behind while they went for her. Especially to Earth-3. And while Nightwing was the clear choice to remain in Batman’s absence, he was also the only other person who had experience with their doppelgangers and regardless of whether or not they were the ones who took her, a meeting would be unavoidable.

“If you think I’m not going, you’re in for the fight of your life,” Jason said, right hand balling into a fist and left twitching toward his holstered gun because that was the one with the rubber bullets, “Let’s save ourselves the effort and the time.”  
  
“Don’t worry, you were always going,” Bruce reassured. Not just because Jason and Cass were in an “on” stage of their on-again-off-again relationship; Bruce didn’t particularly approve, for either of their sakes, and so it wasn’t a factor in his decision. No, Jason’s unpredictability and their doppelgangers unfamiliarity with him would be immensely useful. Not to mention that Bruce didn’t particularly trust a worried, frightened, and angry Red Hood without the stabilizing presence of Cass, to run around a Batman-less Gotham. And, he admitted to himself and no one else, Red Hood’s lack of aversion to killing could be useful in a place like Earth-3.

They were desperate. They left without much in the way of a plan. Speak to their doppelgangers and reassess. Be ready for anything.  
  
That was so much easier to say than do.  
  
  
* * *

 

Jason’s head aches. His back is stiff and his legs feel numb. He tries to bring a hand to his face to rub his eyes open but it’s caught on something. Both of them are. He can touch his hands to the opposite elbows but this is more than just ropes or tape or cuffs, all of which he could get out of in a minute at most. He feels the cold pinch of metal at his wrists and realizes that the binding is a single long cuff that envelopes the entire length of his forearms. He tugs on it, testing, and feels it tighten. So not metal then. Something else. Either way, he can’t reach the locking mechanism, wherever it is.  
  
“Nice, huh? He made them just for you, you know,” says a familiar voice in a tone a touch colder than Jason is used to.

He whips his head to the left to look up at the voice’s owner and chokes on his inhale. Bruce and Dick had warned him but he still wasn’t prepared for it. The man has all Dick’s features, his light blue eyes, tanned skin, black hair cut about the same length, his lean build, and blinding smile. But it’s the differences that stand out to Jason, makes Jason swallow hard. He’s never been afraid of Dick. Dick is always too charming and amiable, he makes a lot of stupid jokes and his presence is always warm even when he’s beating the shit out of people. This man, Dick’s doppelganger, Talon, he is slightly broader than Dick, there’s a cruelty in his smile that Jason is pretty sure his Dick is incapable of. But worst of all are the eyes. Dick’s are kind, full of love and laughter. Talon’s gaze is laughing too, but for a different reason, a meaner reason, he looks at Jason like he’s going to rip the bound man to pieces with his bare hands and enjoy every second of it.  
  
“Well, not for you specifically,” Talon continues, “You were a _very_ pleasant surprise, but we didn’t really know about you,” the way his eyes darken and the emphasis on ‘very’ makes Jason’s skin crawl, “But for them,” he gestures to Jason’s right.  
  
Jason turns and sees Dick kneeling next to him and Bruce just beyond. All three of them in the same position, unmasked and on their knees, no shoes, hands bound by the strange, self-constricting cuff, hooked to the wall. They seem to be slowly coming to… and maybe they’ll see a way out of this that he can’t, but Jason is feeling cornered. And he definitely doesn’t like Fakewing’s predatory smile as he crouches down to Jason’s eye level.

“Fuck, little wing,” Jason tenses at the nickname, it sounds so wrong dripping with unconcealed lust, “who knew you’d’ve grown up so damn pretty?” Talon takes him by the chin and moves his head from one side to the other, leering at him.

Then, as suddenly as a flash of lightening, Talon drops his hold and resumes a friendlier demeanor.  
  
“So, how long did it take you to figure it out?” Talon asks in a bored, conversational tone.  
  
Jason’s instincts take over, shoving that prior twinge of fear down where it belongs, and replacing it with his trademark stubbornness. He leans forward and lifts his chin, looking Douche-Dick in the eye, “What’s the matter? Can’t count? Or have you been so busy the last few weeks that you don’t remember when you popped by the universe next door?”  
  
Talon’s tone stays indifferent, “Time doesn’t exactly move the same way when you’re ‘popping’ between universes.” He gives Jason a truly wicked grin before continuing, “For instance, what was a few weeks to you, was a couple years to her,” he stands and shifts so Jason can see behind him and Jason focuses there for the first time; the bed, the ratty old t-shirt that looks just like one he used to have until Cass hijacked it, poking out from out of the covers, the mess of dark brown hair just missing the pillow at the top of the bed. His breath catches at the familiar shape of the person sleeping in the bed, the long knife scar on her thigh, the scar from that bullet she took to her right upper arm, and he almost cries out in a weird mix of relief at finding her and rage at the implications of his Cass, half naked in that bed.  
  
“Ah, ah, ah,” Talon chides as his foot makes contact with Jason’s throat. Talon glances at Dick and Bruce, who are much more alert now, and brings his finger to his lips in a ‘sshhing’ motion, “We don’t want to wake her up. Not like that.”  
  
Jason stays silent for the same reason he assumes Dick and Bruce do, they don’t really know what’s going on yet. They’re captured and bound in a way that makes escape unlikely. And it’s clear that Cass is not restrained in any way. Yet. Jason doesn’t know what Douche-Dick is planning but he knows he doesn’t want to risk Cass getting cuffed to the wall with them.  
  
Talon takes a step back, which makes all three kneeling men tense. It’s subtle but it doesn’t escape Talon’s notice.

  
“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt her.” His voice is slick, slimy, oil, so different from Dick’s that Jason’s brain is having trouble making a connection between what he’s seeing and what he’s hearing. Until Talon’s eyes darken and the corners of his mouth creep up sadistically, “Not any more than she wants me to, anyway.”  
  
Jason clinches his jaw and leans as far forward as he can, Dick’s eyes and nostrils flare in rage, and Bruce growls and throws himself away from the wall, trying to dislodge the hook holding the cuff.  
  
Talon leans back, feigning surprise, and glances to the bed where Cass hasn’t budged, “Hoo boy, good thing our girl’s a heavy sleeper. Well, after the truly _exhausting_ night w- I mean, _she_ had who could blame the poor thing?” He finishes with a wink that has Jason testing the hook’s hold against the weight of his body this time.  


Talon just smirks at their futile efforts before looking to Dick. He licks his lower lip in a deeply worrying way that makes Bruce and Jason cringe and Dick recoil slightly. But all Talon does is spread his arms wide and let his smirk grow into a full grin, one that looks a little more like the sincere, joyful ones that real Dick wears constantly, and says, “Recognize the room?”  
  
And Jason does. He had earlier but with his body aching and his focus on Talon he hadn’t allowed himself to fully acknowledge where they are. But it’s Dick who answers.  
  
“The master bedroom at the manor,” Dick swallows hard and glances quickly to the bed before returning his eyes to the threat at hand.  
  
Jason is half a heartbeat slower to grasp the implications. The master bedroom wouldn’t be Talon’s room. Not Talon’s room… Jason’s eyes slide to the sleeping girl and he feels like he’s gonna vomit… not Talon’s bed. Jason remembers the briefing Dick and Bruce had given about their Earth-3 counterparts. It was bad enough when he thought it was Dick’s evil twin who Stockholm-syndromed his way into Jason’s best friend, his lover, his family.  
  
Jason gags. Talon looks back to him, “-ttss- That doesn’t bode well for the future,” he says as he turns to move toward the bed.

Jason doesn’t have a lot of time to unpack that comment. Talon’s left hand slides up Cass’s shirt, his wrist pulling the hem over her hips as his fingertips lightly brush along her spine. It’s a softer touch than Jason expected. In his peripheral, Jason sees Bruce choke on the air he’s breathing and turn away. She isn’t wearing anything under Jason’s old t-shirt, which only now, when his brain is looking for a diversion, does he realize she must have been wearing when she was taken. With a jolt he realizes it was the same thing she’d been wearing the last time he saw her, before he’d gone out for coffee.  
  
Cass stirs, arching her back to meet Talon’s touch, gives a tired but content hum, and Jason is positive he feels his heart break into a million pieces as he sucks in a sob.  
  
Talon doesn’t pay any attention to them. His right hand is moving on the far side of Cass’s body while his left continues to stroke up and down her back, moving lower and lower towards her ass. He leans his face closer to hers and whispers something. Jason’s mouth goes dry and Dick actually tugs at his cuff when Talon’s fingertips dip into the crack of Cass’s ass. Both still, instantly in shock when Cass responds by lifting her leg to wrap around Talon’s waist.  
  
Glancing toward his prisoners, Talon gives a horrible smile before ratcheting up his pace. He grabs Cass roughly, fingers of both hands digging into the skin on her ass hard enough to leave bruises. Jason’s brain chooses that minute to register that much her exposed skin is covered in bruises and what sickeningly looks like bites.

Cass sucks in a delighted gasp as Talon situates her beneath him. In their movements, the rest of the covers fall away and Talon pushes Cass’s hair out of her face to attack her mouth. As Talon tugs on her lower lip with his teeth Jason notices she’s wearing a sleeping mask.   
  
She whines as Talon slides his hands up her sides, purposefully pulling her shirt higher and higher. When Talon reaches her chest Jason hears her yelp and his eyes shoot back to her face. She’s holding her hand near her lip and a small drop of blood slides down her finger. Talon takes advantage of the higher position of her arms and jerks the t-shirt off over her head, tossing it cruelly into Jason’s lap. Cass arches her back in response, her hands gripping Talon’s biceps. She whimpers and rolls her hips into his groin, searching, begging for him to do more than tease.  
  
Jason is mesmerized by Cass’s movements. He’s missed her so much and she’s so fucking stunning during sex. But, although he’s used to seeing her with other people (they didn’t exactly have a traditional sex life) he isn’t very fond of seeing her with Dick.  And this is even worse than the normal nightmares brought on by his insecurities. This was Dick’s evil twin and Jason just keeps hoping this is some kind of Stockholm syndrome. Mind control or magic would make this, and anything that may have happened before, rape and as much as he can’t stand the thought that she’s doing this of her own volition, he would never wish the alternative on her just to make himself feel better. Besides, if the time Cass had been gone had been years for her, and these assholes had at least been good to her, then Jason could come to terms with this, could help Cass come to terms with this when they finally get her home.

Either way, Douche-Dick is going to die. And there is nothing Bruce will be able to do about it.

Talon’s hand reaching to free his cock jolts Jason out of his stupor.

“CASS!” Jason shouts. Cass, still blinded by the sleep mask, tilts her head his direction. Talon finishes undoing his pants but sits back, gives Jason a delighted smirk, and waits. Jason resolves to ignore him, to focus on the woman he loves.

“Cass, baby, it’s Jason…” He can’t really think of anything else to say. She isn’t tied up, she seems to be interested in fucking Talon. What is he supposed to say, “Don’t worry honey, we’ll save you”? Not only does that seem unlikely but it also doesn’t seem like she wants or needs saving.

She tilts her head back toward Talon, “Someone else is here?”

One of Talon’s hands moves between her legs as he starts to thrust his fingers in and out of her, while his other hand strokes himself, both hands moving at the same slow but strong pace. When she moans, Jason is grateful that Cass’s thigh is blocking the view.

Out of the corner of his eye Jason sees that Bruce is still resolutely turned away despite Talon’s back being the only thing he’d really be able to see from there. But Dick, like him, seems unwilling to let the evil Doppelganger out of his sight.

“Yeah, babe, we have an audience. You don’t mind a few people watching me use you like a toy, do you? Watching me fuck you hard into the mattress?” He’s speaking to her. But his eyes, dark and blown wide with wicked glee, are focused on Jason and Dick.

“Are they going to play too?” She responds, and Jason’s heart drops to his stomach. It’s almost like… almost like she doesn’t rec…

“Oh, they’re definitely going to play too,“ Talon says, still starring at them, a cruel smirk curling one side of his mouth, and suddenly Jason can’t breathe. His chest constricts and his stomach does more elaborate, sickening acrobatics than real Dick when diving off skyscrapers. Jason wants to vomit but can’t remember how.

Douche-Dick lets out a clear, delighted laugh that’s much too similar to real Dick’s.

“But Daddy wants us to wait for him to play with the new toys. So it’s just you and me for right now.”

With that, Talon attacks Cass’s mouth, his fingers fucking into her with bruising force. She moans into his mouth and raises her hips to meet each thrust of his hand.

Dick is staring at the floor and Bruce still won’t look. Jason can’t turn away even though he desperately wants to. Tears of rage and helplessness are stinging the corners of his eyes.

When Talon pulls his fingers out of Cass and brings them to her lips, the tears fall. Jason squeezes his eyes shut then, but he can still hear the wet licking sounds as she cleans her own fluids off Evil Dick’s fingers.

“What’s the matter, little wing,” Talon taunts, “In the early days of our girl’s… reeducation, she let slip that you like to watch her with others. And that she likes to watch you too.”

Jason’s eyes snap back open at “reeducation” and he’s never felt so helpless and angry in his life. He keeps testing the restraints and while they aren’t tightening anymore Jason assumes it’s only because they’re already cutting off the circulation in his arms.

“Is it me, Jay,” Talon continues, nodding at Nightwing, “is it because you’ve got a problem with my face?”

Jason growls and Dick’s right there with him.

Talon just laughs again. Still fully clothed he grasps his cock in one hand and lifts Cass’s hips with his other. He lines up and penetrates her in one brutal thrust, punching a gasp out of her.

He pulls out almost completely and then, instead of continuing, both of his hands grip her hips and tug her back onto his dick at a slightly upward angle, her ass is now resting on his thighs.

She cries out and Jason’s still struggling against his bonds, even though he knows he won’t get free, knows there’s nothing he can do, but he can’t just sit here.

Talon grins toward Jason and Dick again and then starts a punishing pace. By the little grunts escaping Cass’s lips it has to hurt. Her nails dig into the sheets until Talon growls and wraps the fingers of one hand in the strands of her hair, the other staying on her hip, and jerks her up so that she’s sitting in his lap. He pulls her hair viciously and bites at her neck and clavicle and she just moans in unbridled pleasure.

Jason has never hated a person more than he hates Talon. He’s going to tear the other man’s limbs from his body and beat him to death with the bloody appendages.

They’re reaching their climax. Talon’s movements get erratic and somehow even more violent as his hand pulls and squeezes and scratches.

Then Jason hears the most soul shattering sound he’s ever heard in his life. The one thing he honestly thought he’d never hear.

“Oh, _Dick_ ,” she gasps in ecstasy, with awe in her voice.

Jason stops breathing and he feels more than sees Dick freeze in horror. He can’t believe this is happening.

Talon gives one more ferocious thrust, cries out, and empties himself inside of the only woman Jason has ever loved.

The tears are flowing down Jason’s cheeks freely, dripping off his chin onto the shirt in his lap. He is going to be sick. He wants to sink into the floor, into the earth, out the other side and into the void of space. Anything to make this end.

They’re still clinging to each other, coming down off their orgasms, trying to catch their breath. Jason knows… this is only going to get worse.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” a deep, gravelly voice says from Jason’s left, near the door.

Jason, Dick and Bruce all snap their attention to the newcomer. He’s as big and muscle bound as Batman; they can see that, even though the man is still wearing his metal owl suit. Only the cowl is removed, displaying a face with more than a passing resemblance to Bruce’s.

Douche-Dick grins at the man and slaps Cass’s hand away when she tries to remove the sleep mask.

“Hey, you never said we couldn’t fool around. You just said ‘don’t touch the do-gooders until I return,’” Talon says, voice dropping into a mocking rumble to mimic Owlman’s.

Owlman sighs in feigned, or perhaps real, exasperation. Then he turns to look at his captives. One side of his mouth tugs up in an evil smirk.

“Well, perhaps we should all get acquainted,” he says, eyes glinting wickedly, closing the door behind him.


	2. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I do think it benefited from my waiting, though.
> 
> I also edited the last chapter to make it a little more cohesive.
> 
> Enjoy.

Jason is blinded by disgust and rage. If he wasn’t, maybe he would have thought twice about drawing attention to himself.

“What did you do to Cassandra, you sick fuck?!” he barks at Owlman as the armor-clad man steps a little further into the room, toward the bed.

Owlman stops and turns to consider Jason. His eyes narrow as he moves closer, kneeling in front of Jason. He grasps Jason’s chin just like Talon had. Only, instead of moving his face side to side, Owlman just stares directly into Jason’s eyes.

Jason chances a glance at Talon who is moving to retrieve something from the nightstand drawer but who’s attention remains fixed on the unfolding confrontation with childlike anticipation. When he looks back to Owlman, Jason meets his gaze with a hard glare of contempt. Beside him, Dick and Bruce are watching the scene with almost as much interest as Talon. They’ve met Owlman before but Jason never has, the attention the two men are showing him is… unexpected.

Recognition spreads across the almost familiar features of Thomas Wayne, Jr. His eyes widen and his mouth falls open a little.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, almost reverently, his gauntleted hand moves to caress Jason’s cheek with a sharp claw, “Jason?”

Jason jerks his head away without taking his eyes off Bruce’s evil counterpart. Thomas licks his lips as he stands, eyes still a little wide with surprise.

Dick and Bruce look confused and worried. Jason’s skin is crawling.

“Christ, Richard, when you said surprise…” Thomas says, backing away from Jason toward the bed without taking his eyes off the younger man’s face. It makes Jason supremely uncomfortable.

Douche-Dick wraps his arms around Thomas, resting his head on the older man’s armored shoulder, and gazes at Jason too. Like they can’t quite believe he’s there.

“When I said surprise,” Talon replies, low and lustful, pausing to nip at Thomas’s ear, eyes still on Jason, “I meant ‘better than anything you could have even thought to hope for.’”

“Enough,” comes Bruce’s firm, authoritative Batman voice from Jason’s right and Jason’s flooded with reassurance. Batman’s here; he’s never been so happy to have Batman around.

Attention shifts to Bruce, and for a brief moment, Jason feels rescued. He hadn’t realized just how heavy the gazes had been.

Then Bruce says, “What do you want?” and the eyes dart back to him and slide over to Dick.

They both cringe. If the intent hadn’t been clear before, it certainly is now.

“That’s not going to happen,” Bruce growls as Thomas and Douche-Dick look back to him.

There’s a second of silence before Talon starts laughing, a genuinely joyous and heartfelt sound identical to real-Dick’s, the one that could always make Jason smile despite himself. Jason spares a moment of hate for Douche-Dick ruining the few things about real-Dick that he’d always liked.

Thomas grins, “Feel free to stop me whenever you can.”

Bruce gives him a look Jason wishes could kill the bastard where he stands. The dumbass would probably feel guilty but if it got them out of this Jason would happily deal with an even more moody Batman.

Talon has turned his attention back to Cass who’s been kneeling quietly, waiting, still blindfolded. He presses whatever he took from the nightstand into her hands. She feels it, then moves both hands up to her ears, pressing in the buds. Talon gently pulls the mask up over Cass’s head. She blinks and looks up at him.

She can definitely see Jason in her peripheral. The fact that she doesn’t even glance his way, doesn’t take her eyes off that million-dollar Dick Grayson grin, can only mean his fears are real, she doesn’t recognize him, them, whatever they’ve done to her… it feels like he’s drowning. The way she gazes at Talon… it’s the same way she would look at Jason. Talon moves his hands, signing to her, _Pay attention but don’t read lips, we’ll catch your eye._

“Now,” Thomas says as he removes his gauntlets, “to answer your question, Jason,” and just like that those eyes are back on him and he’s never wished to be invisible more than this moment, “It took a while, and some expert assistance—”

“Amazons,” Talon interjects helpfully, “They’re real pros at the whole submission thing.”

“—yes, thank you Richard,” Thomas says with a sharp edge, clearly warning the younger man not to interrupt again. He turns to Cass, who’s eyes drop to the sheets with Jason’s heart. He hates this, she’s usually all fire and spirit and quiet confidence. She’s always been cool with taking orders in bed, they both are, but never meekly, always because she’d wanted to, not because she’d been cowed. This isn’t right.

Thomas’s fingers run through Cass’s hair and she leans into it before he gives a sharp tug, pulling her head back. Her gaze stays downward. Jason grinds his teeth together.

It’s all he can do.

“She had a strong mind and an even stronger will. But, eventually, between the Owls and the Amazons, everyone breaks. And once broken, rebuilding in more desirable form is simple,” his eyes flash with cruel delight at Jason and Dick, “Perhaps you’ll find out yourselves. Though, I expect you’ll be much easier. I doubt either of you will give us as much trouble as our girl here.”

“During that process,” Thomas continues as he moves away from Cass, to Jason’s relief; he’d rather be uncomfortable with Owlman’s attention on him than uncomfortable with Owlman’s attention on Cass, “sweet Cassandra told us all kinds of interesting things about all of you, or rather your masked pseudonyms. You’d be proud of her, through everything she never once mentioned your real names, even when we made it clear we knew you,” he kneels in front of Jason again, “Though in hindsight, her motivation seems clear,” his expression softens for a blink of an eye and it’s more terrifying than anything else so far, “We don’t have a Red Hood here.”

It wasn’t hard to put together that his doppelganger was… something… to Owlman and Talon. And that his doppelganger, for one reason or another, isn’t around anymore.

“What happened?” he sneers, allowing all his hate and fury to color his words and twist his features, “You get yours blown up too?”

It’s a low blow he’d never say to Bruce, not seriously anyway, especially with how relatively good things have been. And even at his worst he’d never blamed Bruce for his death. He’s a little sorry that Bruce is there to hear him say it, hopes the man understands, still sees him flinch out of the corner of his eye. But he can tell that these psychos cared about their Jason, in some way, and it’s the only thing he has on them. He shudders inwardly at what that ‘caring’ must have looked like.

Those icy grey-blue eyes flash with anger before the color is swallowed by black pupils. Jason has just enough time to think, _what the fuck,_ before knuckles crack like a cement block across his face.

He’s stunned. His vision goes dark for a moment and when it returns it’s blurry. He tastes blood. Feels nails digging into his scalp. Something’s pulling at his bound arms. He’s dimly aware of panicked voices to his right.

Suddenly, as his vision clears, he’s thrown across the room and smacks into the side of the bed so hard it knocks the wind from him.

His arms are still bound in the cuff and when he tries to get his feet under him he finds his legs are so numb and tingly that he doesn’t have much control over them.

Too bad the numbness doesn’t go any higher than his legs because he has no problem feeling the armored knee digging into his groin, stealing what little breath was left in him as he gasps in pain.

There’s a hand at his throat. It applies just a little pressure, just enough to bring his attention to the man hovering over him.

Thomas grins down at him; uses his free hand to thumb at the corner of Jason’s mouth, drag something wet across his lips, before taking the finger up to his own lips and licking it. Jason sees the red stain on his tongue before it disappears back into Thomas’s smiling mouth. Blood. His blood. He swallows back the urge to throw up.

“I’d advise you to tread carefully, but honestly?” Thomas uses the hand on Jason’s throat to drag their faces closer, only a few inches of space between them, and drops his voice a little lower to intimidate, but not low enough that everyone else can’t still hear, “There’s not a word you can say that would change anything that’s about to happen. I was always going to do whatever I want to you,” he finishes darkly, grinding his knee down a little harder for emphasis.

The words run down Jason’s spine like ice water, chilling him to the bone, but he forces himself to stay outwardly calm. He inhales shakily against the weight around his neck, works his mouth and throat like he’s trying to get the words out.

Then he spits blood and saliva in Thomas’s face and growls out a furious “Fuck you.”

Thomas doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink. His sadistic grin just widens.

“Oh, little wing,” Talon croons from above, startling Jason. He’s lying on the bed on his stomach, chin resting on arms folded along the edge of the mattress, head hanging over, watching with eyes blown wide, “That’s the whole point.”

Jason had already figured that out. No one was being particularly subtle. But Jason’s not the type to gracefully accept and confront the things he can’t change. He’s the type to struggle even when he knows it’s useless. He is definitely the type to kick and scream and bite and generally try to make life harder for the other person while accepting that he’s also making the situation more for difficult for himself as well.

That’s why, when Owlman halls him to his feet, he throws his head back trying to butt it into the other man’s face. Thomas dodges him. Douche-Dick doesn’t.

He connects with Talon’s chin. It’s not as solid of a hit as he would have liked but the “ _Goddammit!_ ” he hears is the most satisfying thing that’s happened since he got to this hell-hole.

He smirks even as he’s manhandled onto the bed. He manages to flop flat on his stomach just to be complicated. When one of them moves between his legs and puts their hands on his hips, he tries to kick the person, but his leg is easily pinned back down under a strong, armored shin.

“Stop it!”

Everything pauses. Jason manages to turn his head towards Dick. Real Dick. His eyes are wide with terror, he looks like he wants to cry but is managing to hold it together. Seeing that face, the naked fear for Jason’s safety, it drives home what’s about to happen in a way Jason can’t ignore with violence and stubbornness. Bruce’s older brother and Dick’s twin from an evil alternate Earth are about to rape him and make his family watch. He knows Cass is up by his right shoulder; knows she isn’t going to care. Suddenly he feels less insubordinate and more freaked out.

“Please—please don’t,” Dick stammers. Dick is Jason’s best friend, he knows that Jason’s never been with a man before; knows that it’s something Jason and Cass had talked about, planned it a couple times, once with Roy and, after Jason had chickened out, once with Cass and a strap-on. He’d backed out then too. It was something he had always wanted to do but had just never managed to go through with. Dick knows all this. Jason had confided in him because sex was something that Dick was always so comfortable with, reveled in his sexuality, while Jason had always been, not uptight, just… shy. He’d only ever opened up with Cass, and that had taken a long time; a soul-deep bond of trust. Dick’s trying to protect him, without giving too much away, and Jason loves him for it. But Jason knows it’s not going to do any good; knows Dick must know that too.

Bruce looks pale and defeated. Jason’s never seen that face before. Is that actual fear?

The thought turns his stomach more than anything else.

Talon, who is up by Jason’s head, laughs again.

“Don’t worry, Dickie, we’ll take good care of sweet, innocent, little Jay,” Talon says, like he knows exactly what’s going through their heads; like that’s their primary objection instead of just a rotten cherry on top the shit sundae, “We’ll make sure his first time is… well, memorable, at least.”

Jason has just enough time to see Dick’s face fall, just enough time to see Bruce throw himself against his bindings once more, before there’s fingers twisting cruelly in his hair and hands roughly griping his hips, both pulling him up.

With his hands still firmly secured behind him the position puts stress on his spine and abdominal muscles. With his knees so far back he can’t get the leverage to balance himself so when Douche-Dick lets go of his hair he starts to pitch forward. A hand on his shoulder and another grabbing his jaw catches him before he faceplants into the other man’s lap and Jason realizes that, at some point, Talon had removed the rest of his clothing.

“It’s okay, baby, we’ll make sure you stay where we want you,” Talon drawls, teeth bared in a feral grin, eyes twinkling with the promise of pain.

Thomas has been silent but busy behind him. He already has Jason’s pants and boxers down to his knees. When Thomas lifts his legs to remove them completely, Jason tries kicking him again. He’s just as unsuccessful.

 “Richard,” Thomas growls and Talon’s head snaps up in attention, “Drawer. Get this shirt off him.”

This time Jason does fall face first into the mattress. While he waits for Talon to return he’s acutely aware of Thomas’s hands on his asscheeks, spreading them open, exposing him to that heavy gaze. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows hard, trying to get some moisture back in his suddenly dry throat. It’s about the same moment he feels the cold metal of a blade at his collar that he realizes the weight behind him is situated off to his right side instead of between his legs. It’s when he’s deafened by the loud tearing of his shirt that he realizes why that is.

He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of begging but he can’t help the pleading “ _No…_ ” that escapes his lips, little more than a whisper, as he blushes from his ears to his toes. He tries, uselessly, to wriggle out of their grasp or at least close his legs.

From where he’s bolted to the wall, Bruce can see everything.

“Aw Batman, you’re missing it,” Talon whines, “little Jay just turned the most gorgeous shade of pink.”

He feels the knife slip down his side and start to slide slowly up his stomach when Thomas says, “Open your eyes, Bruce. It’ll be easier for him if you watch.”

Jason can’t see how that could possibly be the case. Other than the fact that this is happening at all, he can’t think of anything worse than Bruce looking at him right now, watching.

Then Talon flicks his wrist and Jason feels the sharp edge of the blade slice his nipple. It’s a shallow cut and he cries out more in surprise than pain, but it’s a sensitive area and it still hurts.

“There we go,” Thomas says, clearly responding to Bruce’s renewed focus, “Pay attention and we won’t have to hurt him.”

“Well, excessively hurt him, anyway,” Talon adds.

Jason’s trying to go somewhere else, anywhere else, in his head. He tries his happiest memories first but most involve Cassandra and that just reminds him that she’s sitting quietly above him, seemingly with no memory of him, letting this happen. So he reaches for his strongest, most traumatic memories. His mom’s death, finding his birth mother only for her to sell him to the Joker, being beaten to a pulp with a crowbar, getting blown up, clawing his way out of a wooden box, digging his way out of a grave, the agony of the Pit… nothing can hold him when a slick finger rubs against his hole teasingly before shoving in, wiggling around, and hooking to tug at his rim on the way out.

Thomas’s weight is still to the side of him and Jason can’t stop the sob that comes up with the knowledge that his violation is a also performance.

“Shh, baby, I’ve got you,” Talon breaths into his ear as he drags the knife the rest of the way up Jason’s chest, over his Adam’s apple, and rests it across his lips. He tilts Jason’s chin up so that he’s forced to look into those familiar, dark blue eyes.

Talon swipes his thumb across Jason’s cheekbone and that’s when Jason realizes he’s started crying.

“Open your mouth, sweetheart,” Dick—no, Evil-Dick, says with so much affection that Jason’s brain stutters trying to reconcile the difference between the sight of his friend and the things his friend is doing to him, “I won’t have to hurt you, if you do what I say.”

Jason doesn’t believe that for a second, and not just because Talon has already made his inclinations and intentions clear.

But the choice is taken from him as he feels a second finger shoved in with the first and he gasps when they’re scissored wide inside him, stretching.

Talon takes advantage and slips the blade between his lips. Jason squeezes his eyes harder and goes as still as he can with the fingers still thrusting in and out of his ass.

The cool metal slides across his tongue as Talon pushes it in further, until Jason’s lips touch the hilt. He thinks he can feel the sharp point tap the back of his throat every time he breathes. Then Talon drags it slowly back across his tongue, almost all the way out, before carefully pushing it back in.

He can’t quite hold back a choke when a third finger enters him and all three immediately curl and press against his prostate. He tastes blood and does his best not to overreact and make the cut in his mouth worse.

The fingers hurt as they try to work him open. He was already tense thanks to the general dread and unwillingness, but with the knife in his mouth he’s so on edge he can’t even try to force himself to relax.

“Open your eyes for me, Jay,” Talon sighs at him, voice rough with arousal, “I wanna see those beautiful baby blues.”

When Jason tries to squeeze his eyelids together harder, Talon’s grip in his hair tightens, pulling his head back so far he feels like his neck will snap.

“I _always_ wanna hurt you, little wing,” he says softly, “You’re so pretty when you’re screaming in pain, and that’s kinda my thing. I always held back most of that for you, knew you didn’t like it as much as I did. I’m a gentleman like that. But, as much as you look like him, act like him with that sexy as fuck stubbornness and resistance and violence, you’re not him, and I’m happy to keep reminding myself of that fact.”

He pushes the hilt of the knife past Jason’s lips for emphasis. Jason can definitely feel the point pressing into the back of his throat this time. Behind him, Thomas gives an extra hard drive of his fingers and it takes every centimeter of training and awareness to hold back a whimper that would slice open his throat.

Jason’s suddenly afraid they might actually be willing to kill him for disobeying.

He summons every bit of hate and repulsion he can manage, opens his eyes to look into Evil-Dick’s, and hopes it shows through the tears.

Talon’s lids are heavy and hooded with lust.

“There you are, baby,” he grins, “They’re little more green than I remember, but still so fucking gorgeous,” he glances up, Jason assumes at Owlman, “You ready, Daddy? I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for you.”

Jason hears a grunt of affirmation; is vaguely aware, through the intense relief as Thomas removes his fingers, that they were still uncomfortably snug inside him. He feels Thomas wipe his hand on the sheet next to him before he feels the weight at his side shift to between his legs.

He _hates_ that his first thought is ‘ _At least Bruce can’t see me anymore._ ’

Which isn’t entirely true, he knows, but at least the view isn’t quite so… graphic anymore.

Douche-Dick taps a finger from the hand holding the knife against Jason’s lips and Jason’s never opened his mouth faster. 

He feels the blood and saliva that accumulated while he was too afraid to swallow around the blade, trickle out down his chin.

Talon watches, eyes wide, his own lips parted, as he slowly glides the blade down Jason’s tongue. When there’s just an inch or so left, he presses down, licking his lips as the sharp edges threaten to puncture that bloodstained, wet tongue.

“Keep your mouth open,” he rumbles; presses a little harder just to remind Jason that disobedience will come with a price.

Jason blinks, keeps his eyes closed for a moment to steel himself, takes a deep breath, and opens them again. Determined not to give this sadist asshole an excuse to hurt him.

Talon smirks and pulls the knife away. Jason, as ordered, keeps his mouth open, tongue partly out. He wasn’t told to move it and he doesn’t want to risk getting it cut off. It doesn’t escape Jason’s notice that Talon keeps the knife within easy reach.

If only he could get his hands free.

He feels Thomas’s hands on his ass, thumbs spreading him, waiting patiently.

Jason thinks he might be hysterical because his mind unhelpfully supplies him with ‘ _Must be genetic_ ’ as he draws a parallel between Bruce and Thomas.

He closes his eyes again to get a grip.

“Ah, ah, ah. You have to keep them open, baby, remember?” Talon says as he guides Jason’s head to a more comfortable, less dramatically arched, position.

Jason knows, before he opens his eyes, why his neck is no longer in danger of snapping. But it still freaks him out when his lids flutter open and Dick’s dick is in his face.

It’s bigger than he had expected; not as wide, thank god, but easily long enough that Jason knows he’s going to be spending a lot of brain power on not gagging.

In stark contrast to that, Jason feels Thomas’s slick cock slide between his asscheeks and, Jason can’t tell how long he is, but he’s definitely got at least a couple inches of girth on the fingers he’d been using earlier.

Terror suddenly overcomes him.

“Wait—god, please… don’t—”

“Shh,” Talon says again, one hand still in Jason’s hair, holding him up, the other wrapped around his own cock, “Just give into it, little wing. And keep your mouth open,” he drags Jason’s face downward.

Jason hesitates, almost too long, but reopens his mouth just before Talon’s cock can bump into him. He has zero doubts that he’d be punished if that had happened and he’s having enough trouble dealing with what’s currently happening without adding anything… extra.

Douche-Dick shoves him all the way down and holds him there. It’s all he can do, at first, to not gag.

Then, after he acclimates as well as he can hope for, when his brain isn’t focused on “don’t puke” he almost does anyway.

The taste of Cassandra on Talon’s dick overcomes all his other senses and he feels a renewed sense of revulsion. He has the overwhelming urge to bite down.

As though he can read his mind, Talon brings the knife to Jason’s throat, “Don’t do anything stupid, little wing. I’m so happy you’re here; I don’t want to have to hurt you yet.”

He almost does it anyway. Almost decides that it’s worth his life, to leave evil, sadistic, rapist Dick dickless.

But he hears real-Dick sob his name from just out of eyesight and knows he and Bruce would never forgive him for getting himself killed here. Or worse, they’d somehow blame themselves.

He looks up at Talon, the way he knows the psycho wants him to, swallows around the cock stretching his mouth. He’s suddenly resolved to do what he needs to do to get this over with as fast as possible.

Talon moans and thrusts his hips into Jason’s face, pushes him down harder with the hands on his head, as if he could get deeper.

Talon pulls Jason almost all the way off then shoves him back down brutally, setting a vicious pace that already has more tears stinging Jason’s eyes.

He’d forgotten about Owlman.

He tries to scream in agony as a Thomas buries his cock deep inside Jason in one violent thrust. His hole is stretched so wide he feels like he’s being ripped open.

Talon groans loudly as the vibrations of Jason’s silent scream encourage him to increase his pace. He’s fucking Jason’s throat like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted; fast, brutal.

Thomas matches Douche-Dick’s motions and they fall into a ruthless rhythm, one thrusting in as the other pulls out.

Jason doesn’t know how long it goes on. It could be five minutes or five hours. He loses track of time. All he knows is that he can’t stop himself from sobbing.

He closes his eyes and tries, again, to be anywhere but here.

Talon’s filth pulls him out of it before he can even get started.

“C’mon, Jay,” he gasps, “I _know_ you can do better than this, you little whore.”

Jason’s so shocked by that he chokes, his throat constricts and his cheeks hollow, fully sucking on Talon’s cock, as he tries to cough and catch some breath.

A sharp pain and a huffed out, “ _Fuck,_ ” from behind him, with a stutter in the steady pace, makes him aware that his body has also clenched down on Thomas’s dick.

They both give a couple more harsh thrusts before they still, not quite in unison, but close enough to make Jason cringe.

He feels the hot splash of Thomas’s seed fill his hole and, for the millionth time, he wants to be sick. But he’s wrenched out of it by something even worse.

“Swallow it all, slut,” is the only warning he gets from Talon before Douche-Dick’s sticky, warm cum pours across his tongue and down his throat.

He does. He hates himself for it. But he just wants it to end.

Both Talon and Owlman give a few aborted, half-thrusts, as their orgasms fizzle out and they release the last drops of cum into him.

Talon removes himself from Jason’s mouth and Jason gasps for air, all too aware of the salty musk lingering on his tongue. Douche-Dick’s hand doesn’t leave his hair and Jason wants to shove at the other man to get rid of the touch.

A searing sensation rolls up his spine from his ass, distracting him.

He whimpers pathetically as Thomas pulls out of him but doesn’t have the time to languish in the pain as something fat and curved is pushed, unceremoniously, past his abused rim and into his sore passage.

He shouts in distress.

Only for his cries to be swallowed by soft, familiar lips.

Everything else disappears. Talon, Owlman, Nightwing, Batman, the master bedroom of the manor, the pain, the humiliation, the helplessness, the rage… it all fades into the warmth of that touch, the taste of home.

Small, strong hands cradle his face and he leans into them on instinct.

He trusts her.

More than anyone or anything. He trusts her.

When he looks at her, her big brown eyes gaze back; without recognition, without affection.

Jason tries to ignore the quiet chuckling from Talon as he collapses onto the mattress, unrestrained tears damping the sheets beneath him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Jay, I just love tormenting you <3
> 
> [ScandalSavage Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)


	3. Self Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's turn for some nightmare fuel.
> 
> (Just a reminder, I update the tags as I go... you should check them before you read each new chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me up on Tumblr. 
> 
>  
> 
> [ScandalSavage Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)

Despite everything that’s going on, the imminent threat of this exact thing happening to him in the immediate future, despite the past trauma of his own it will drudge up, the thing that has Dick most freaked out? Is Jason… crying.

He’s trying, for the life of him, to remember if he’s ever seen Jason cry before. It’s partly in an effort to divide his attention; the evil-him and Owlman have made it clear they want him and Bruce to watch and that they’re not afraid to hurt Jason to make that happen. But he can’t just _watch_ , he has to go somewhere else, in his mind, so that he _sees_ without really _watching_. However, the even bigger part is that Jason’s always so tough. His façade is hardened, street-smart, punk… he doesn’t really let anyone see the soft center of him, no matter what awful thing he’s going through at the time. He seems to be a magnet for trauma.

Dick realizes he’s crying too. That’s not as unusual but between Jason dying, coming back, warring with them, and finally reaching an uneasy truce that has slowly burgeoned into actual relationships with the rest of the family… Dick’s shed a lot of tears for Jason. He hates that someone is hurting him _again_.

Luckily, he’s not completely zoned out because when Talon shoves his cock in Jason’s mouth the flush of anger that settles on Jason’s face has him and evil-him thinking the same thing. He watches Talon press the knife back to Jason’s throat and threaten to hurt him if he bites down. Dick can read it like a book in every tense muscle of Jason’s body, that he’s thinking about doing it anyway.

No. Dick can’t watch him get hurt any worse; can’t watch him die; can’t lose him a second time.

Somehow, he manages to find his voice and choke out Jason’s name, pleadingly.

Jason doesn’t relax any, but Dick sees resignation flutter across his face only to be replaced with a hard look of determination.

Dick doesn’t ever remember feeling this helpless, even after Blockbuster when Catalina had… he’d felt helpless then, of course, but not like this. He thinks it might be worse, watching someone he loves be abused, than being abused himself. And when Catalina had… taken advantage of him… at least she hadn’t been violent… hadn’t gotten off on hurting him.

He can hear the muffled sound of what he’s pretty sure is a scream from Jason as Owlman enters him, sees the way that seems to encourage Talon to be rougher, hears the cruel names uttered in his own voice. He hates the way Jason has to gasp for breath when he has control over his own mouth again, rage boils at the pained whine that comes out of that mouth when Owlman pulls out of him, and he’s tugging uselessly at his bonds again when Thomas roughly shoves a plug into Jason.

But he’s frozen and speechless when Talon guides Cass to Jason’s face and she kisses him. It’s cruel and the sneer on evil Dick’s face tells him the asshole knows exactly what he’s doing.

When Talon lets go of Jason’s hair he collapses, boneless, onto the bed. Dick can’t see Jason’s face, he’s facing away from them, probably purposefully, but he can see Jason’s shoulders moving, almost imperceptibly, and can hear quiet little hitches in his breath. He’s never wanted to kill someone more than he does right now.

Talon cards his fingers through Jason’s hair. When he gets no reaction, he smiles down at the prone man fondly.

Dick thinks it’s probably lucky for this world’s Jason, that he’s somehow no longer in the picture.

Owlman gets off the bed, undoing the latches and snaps that keep his stupid metal owl suit on. His back is to the bed when Talon lies down alongside Jason, head at Jason’s hip, feet propped up on the pillow at the head of the bed. His back is to Dick, but Dick doesn’t miss the movement of his fingers lightly sliding across Jason’s shoulders, brushing over where the cuff digs into Jason’s skin, before following along his spine lower.

Dick growls when those fingers dance down to the top of Jason’s cleft, when Jason jerks and makes a weak protesting sound and Talon hushes him, but Owlman beats him to a command to stop.

“Let him rest, Richard,” Thomas orders without turning around. Dick lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Talon huffs and flops down on his back, “I just want to finger him a little,” he whines.

Dick sees Jason’s muscles tense.

Owlman scowls over his shoulder at Talon, “Don’t make me repeat myself. You know how much I hate that.”

Evil-him huffs again and pouts, still moving his one hand in soft caresses along Jason’s spine. Dick wants to cut his hand off. But he’d settle for Jason’s rapist to just stop touching his victim.

Then Owlman’s attention turns to Dick and his blood curdles.

“If you’re somehow feeling unsatisfied—”

“Not unsatisfied just— _augh—"_

Dick has a second of satisfaction as he watches Thomas wrap his hand around Evil Dick’s throat and squeeze. But it fades quickly when he realizes that, of course Talon fucking likes it.

“All things considered, I’d think you’d be more interested in being rewarded right now, rather than punished,” Thomas says, standing at the foot of the bed, towering over Talon’s head, eyes sweeping up his naked body.

“Sorry, daddy,” Talon moans under the attention, “You’re right. I’m so sorry.”

Owlman grunts, “This is your last warning.”

“Thank you, daddy. You’re so good to me.”

Owlman’s hand slides up to Talon’s face tenderly. Then his eyes dart back to Dick.

“Now as I was saying,” Thomas says, and Evil Dick follows his gaze, eyes lighting up, “If you wish burn off some more energy why don’t you show Dick your room.”

Dick shoots Bruce a panicked look. He doesn’t want to be separated from them, doesn’t want to leave Jason, and definitely doesn’t want to be alone with Talon.

Even Jason’s roused by the suggestion as he turns his head to look back at Dick.

Another first, Dick thinks, because he’s _never_ seen fear in Jason’s eyes before. Whether it’s fear for Dick being alone with his evil twin or fear of being left with Owlman and Cass, it’s clear Jason doesn’t want Dick leaving either.

“Wait—please,” Bruce says weakly, knowing it’s useless but being physically incapable not trying _something_.

Talon ignores him, unhooks Dick from the wall, and drags him to his feet.

Only for Dick to promptly collapse into his evil self as his legs go from numb to stinging pricks of pain and wobble like jelly, unable to support his weight.

Talon just laughs brightly, scoops Dick up like he weighs nothing, and leaves the room.

 

*             *             *

 

Evil Dick’s room is strikingly similar to his own. So much so that Dick wonders if this version of him could have turned out differently; wonders if the difference is as simple as Bruce versus Thomas or if it’s the nature of this world to twist the good things into something dark and horrible.

Talon legitimately tosses Dick onto the unmade bed covered with clothes. He winces as he bounces on his bound arms.

Talon is looking at him like he’s trying figure out how to disarm an alarm.

“Your suit’s a little more complicated than Jason’s outfit,” he says with a leer.

“You fucking—”

“Ah come on Dickie, let’s not start off on the wrong foot,” Talon says threateningly.

Dick tries to raise his legs to kick at the other man when he jumps on top of him but he still can’t really feel his legs and they don’t respond to him.

Talon straddles his hips and leans forward to nip Dick’s jaw. “Jay was a surprise,” Talon starts, “We didn’t expect him but now that he’s here, I’m afraid you and Bruce have been relegated to desert. Delicious,” he licks his lower lip and his eyes are dark, “but not necessary.”

Dick had kinda figured the plan was to torture them and then kill them when the criminals got bored of them so he doesn’t really know what to make of that, except that, at some point he needs to figure out why they’re fixated on Jason.

While Talon’s lips press little kisses into the exposed skin at Dick’s neck and face, Talon’s hands are skimming all across his chest which is, to Dick’s mind, pushed out obscenely thanks to his back being arched over his bound arms.

No time like the present. Maybe it’ll at least be a distraction.

“What happened to your Jason?” Dick asks.

Dick expected Talon to freeze or lash out in anger but he just sighs and slides back up Dick’s torso so that Dick’s looking into cold, dark eyes.

But the darkness doesn’t seem motivated by lust this time.

“It’s a pretty tragic story,” Talon says, hint of something that might be regret in his voice, before his lips curl into a sneer and he says, “Not exactly sexy pillow talk.”

He crawls off of Dick and kneels on the bed at his side, once again examining Dick’s suit.

“So does it open in the front or the back?”

For the first time, Dick grins. He stays silent.

Talon sighs again, “Haven’t we made it clear? We’re not above hurting you to get what we want.”

“Go ahead,” Dick says. He’s been tortured before. It’s not like he likes it but he’s not going to help this… _dick_ get him naked.

Talon gives him a funny look, “Do you think I’m going to hurt _you_?”

Isn’t that what the guy just said? There’s no one else in here.

Talon grins at him, gets off the bed, and leaves the room.

Dick swallows hard and tries to call him back but it’s too late.

There’s a few moments of tense silence before he hears Jason scream and Bruce start shouting incomprehensibly, through the shared wall.

“NO! HEY!” he shouts, franticly wriggling himself up the bed the few inches he needs to knock his head against the wall to get their attention, “OK! OK! PLEASE STOP!!” he screams as loud as he can.

Jason goes silent but Bruce keeps yelling for a minute, obviously livid.

The door opens and Talon steps back into the room, a brown leather belt in his hand.

Dick’s mouth goes dry as he eyes the belt but he manages to croak, “What did you do?”

Evil-him follows his eyes to the belt and laughs.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t beat him with this,” he purrs, “Though, he probably would have preferred that.”

Dick is shaking with rage.

“No,” Talon continues in that same slimy tone, “This is for later. For you.”

Dick gulps and presses as far back against the headboard as he can. He’s definitely got his share of kinks but, for as much as pain seems to turn his doppelganger on, that’s about how much Dick doesn’t want it in his own sex life.

“Thought you weren’t gonna hurt me?” Dick says, feeling none of the bravado he puts into the comment, “You should make up your mind.”

Talon shrugs, “I’m changeable,” but then more seriously, “I meant I won’t hurt you in punishment. You’re a goody-two-shoes who can’t stand to see others in pain, especially people you care about,” he smiles, eyes glinting cruelly, “So if you misbehave, I’ll hurt Jason. If you misbehave too much and I have to hurt Jason too much, I’ll move on to Cassandra.”

He walks up to the edge of the bed and pulls hard on either end of the belt creating a loud snapping noise that makes Dick jump.

“So, does it open in the front or the back?”

Dick turns around, sitting on his knees, and tells the other man how to open the suit, disarm the safeties, and where to find the hidden zipper at the back of his collar.

Evil-Dick hums happily as he drags the tab down. Dick takes some satisfaction from the frustrated grunt when the zipper stops at his lower back, right above the outward curve of his ass. He takes even more satisfaction from the fact that the knife Talon had fucked into Jason’s mouth is having a little more trouble slicing through his carbon-fiber and Kevlar weave than Jason’s cotton t-shirt. Or Jason’s tongue.

“Well,” Talon says, “Guess we have to this the fun way.”

Before Dick can question that he’s flipped around onto his back and immediately folded in half, his ankles pinned over his head, while Talon shuffles him around.

“You’re a flexible guy right?” Talon asks, “At least as flexible as me, I hope.”

He chuckles and doesn’t wait for an answer before bending Dick into ridiculous positions somehow managing to get Dick’s legs out through the opening.

Dick _is_ flexible, thank god, or Talon would have absolutely pulled or dislocated something. As it is, Dick’s breathing hard after the tussle and sitting on his knees again, back and bum exposed, as his suit hangs of his shoulders in front of him.

Talon leaves him there for a minute. Dick glances behind him and sees his doppelganger arranging a pile of blankets in front of a big floor mirror.

Dick sighs. He knew Evil-him was gonna make this weird.

Weirder.

Talon comes back, grabs the fabric of Dick’s suit and uses it to drag him off the bed and across the floor to the blankets.

“Really?” Dick asks scornfully as Talon drops him onto the pile and comes around to his front to gaze into his eyes.

“Of course, beautiful,” he says sensually, while he wraps the bottom half of Dick’s clothing around the top part stretched across his chest so that there’s not fabric blocking the view of Dick’s cock in the mirror, “How often does a person get the chance to really fuck themselves?”

Dick narrows his eyes, “You’re right. I guess only creeps who kidnap and rape their counterparts from other universes get once in a lifetime opportunities like this,” he says dryly.

Evil-Dick smiles at him and reaches down between his legs.

Dick’s not proud that the gentle, warm touch makes him gasp and his eyes flicker closed.

Talon chuckles lowly and, without removing his hand, shifts so that he’s behind Dick. So that he can watch them in the mirror.

“Knew you’d be more into this than you were letting on,” Evil-him sighs into his ear.

His cock twitches and he wants to hide in shame. Truth is, ever since they’d first met Dick _had_ wondered what it would be like to make love to himself. Not this asshole, of course, but maybe a different Dick Grayson, another nice, good, slightly afraid of commitment, but kindhearted him. Maybe one who wasn’t a vigilante.

Or a sadistic psychopath.

But his cock is just seeing the fantasy coming to life. It’s not listening to his brain telling it calm the fuck down.

Talon’s mouth is traveling all over his neck and shoulders, leaving wet kisses and little nips in its wake. His hand pumps Dick firmly but gently, so close to the way Dick does it himself but better because he’s not doing it himself. The chest pressed against his back is warm and muscled...

As he gets closer to a full erection, he hates that it feels this good.

And then he’s _pissed_ that it feels this good because this douchebag hadn’t worried about making Jason feel good; went out of his way to cause Jason pain. Fucking got off on it.

Then Dick realizes that Talon’s cock, pushed against the small of his back, isn’t getting hard.

Dick opens his eyes just as Talon lets out a little moan. Sees Talon’s hooded eyes trained on them through the mirror as he drags his mouth across Dick’s bared skin. But Dick follows the line of Talon’s other arm until he sees it disappear behind his doppelganger. Knows that motion means Evil-Dick is fingering himself.

Dick tries to lurch out of Talon’s grasp but the grip on him tightens and pulls him back, making him choke. No… this isn’t happening again. He was resigned to it when he thought Talon was going to.. but not this, he can’t… he doesn’t think he can…

“ _Everything’s all right, baby,_ ” Talon hums as he pushes Dick down onto his back, lying parallel to the mirror and crawls on top of him, “I’m just not ready to go another round quite yet but I can make you feel good. _It’s all ok…_ ”

Dick’s suddenly panic-stricken. His body locks up and he can’t move; feels like he can’t get any oxygen. He’s hyperventilating.

“ _Hush now_ ,” Talon whispers to him as he holds Dick down with a hand on his chest while he reaches back and grabs hold of Dick’s hard cock again with the other, and starts to lower himself.

“No,” Dick manages, “no… not again…”

Talon pauses but Dick doesn’t notice. He’s trying not to spiral, trying to hold onto himself, trying to make his body respond.

But even the words… they’re so…

“ _Quiet, lover_ ,” Talon says, dragging a thumb across Dick’s nipple and Dick gasps in surprise when he feels the tight heat of Evil-Dick’s passage swallow his cock, feels the muscles contract as Talon clenches to feel him.

And suddenly it’s dark. The air is colder and it’s raining. His back is soaked and he can’t focus..

“ _That’s right_ ,” she—no, _he_ groans and slides back up until Dick is almost completely out, then slowly sinks back down, “ _so good_.”

Dick wants to cry as his reality shifts back and forth between the past and present, but his body is shocked still. It can’t do anything but lie there, cock throbbing, as Talon increases his pace, flexing around him in waves, mumbling things like _hush baby_ and _it’s ok_ and _almost there_ without taking his eyes off the mirror.

Dick seems to gain a little more clarity as he approaches climax, the present refocuses, and he has never wanted anything more in his life than to not cum.

But his prayer goes unanswered.

Talon gasps as Dick releases inside him, like he’d just orgasmed himself. But Dick is dimly aware that there’s nothing wet and sticky on him. Talon clenches and rolls his hips a couple of times, milking Dick for everything he’s got.

When he finally climbs off, he stands and looks down at Dick with curiosity in his eyes.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” He smiles coldly.

Dick doesn’t respond. He manages to swallow and turn his head away to stare, unseeingly, under the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are my sustenance! Let me know what you think! ♥


	4. Mind Over Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's control is legendary. Thomas is going to break it, one way or another.
> 
> (again, my darlings, tags are updated)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy this was hard to write... I hope I managed to get Bruce's internal struggle to come across.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)

When Talon comes back in after only a couple minutes Bruce is torn between relief because that wasn’t enough time for him to… hurt Dick and concern because Talon obviously likes to cause pain and _that wasn’t enough time to hurt Dick_.

He walks up to Thomas, who has finished removing his armor and poured himself a drink, and whispers something in his ear. Thomas glances at Bruce and then looks at Jason, still lying on his stomach, breathing finally back under control. Bruce can’t see his face but he imagines that his eyes are closed; that the way Cassandra is running her fingers through his hair is soothing to him despite the circumstances.

He finds that even he clings to that one small comfort.

Thomas nods at Talon who grins like a toddler on Christmas morning which can mean nothing good.

Bruce follows his every movement as he walks toward the nightstand, picks up the knife he’d used earlier, and turns toward the bed.

“What are you doing?” Bruce can’t keep a note of panic out of his voice. He can’t remember ever feeling this way. Over the years, he’s spent a good amount of time terrified as he’s raced to save one of these kids from being murdered. Too many times he’s felt the crushing horror of failure as Jason, Steph, Damian, Dick and Tim all at least appeared to die. When faced with his own certain death, he felt fear of course. But this is different. He’s never felt this kind of powerlessness. They’re all strong fighters, the best in the world, torture is one thing; they’re trained for that, they’re prepared for that.

But this… this is…

This is something he doesn’t know how to, isn’t prepared to, deal with.

Talon, still completely naked, crawls onto the bed. Jason yelps weakly when Talon flips him over on to his back then throws a leg over him to straddle his hips. When Jason jerks like he’s trying to throw Talon off of him, sobs out a broken ‘no’ and Cassandra shushes him quietly, Bruce loses what little calm he had left.

“Get the fuck off him,” he growls, low and threatening.

Talon ignores him; rubs himself against Jason’s cock just to be cruel.

Thomas is leaning against the sideboard, sipping at his drink, watching with dark eyes. His right hand closes a drawer and pockets something Bruce can’t see.

Bruce can’t really see what Talon is doing, all he sees is the man lean forward, left arm braced on Jason’s shoulder; sees his right arm, the one with the dagger, start to move.

Then Jason screams.

“Hey! I said don’t fucking touch him!” Bruce shouts.

The rage is boiling under his skin. He’s a little surprised, and scared, by how much hate is coursing through his veins. He’d always thought the expression ‘seeing red’ was just an idiom. It’s not. The color is creeping in along the edges of his vision.

He feels so out of control with fury he thinks, if he was free, he might actually kill these men.

“STOP IT! Leave him alone already!” Bruce’s screeched pleas are getting more desperate. He can’t believe there’s not a single thing he can do to help.

Bruce is only vaguely aware of a low thudding on the wall behind him and muffled shouting that he might be able to understand if he could spare it any attention.

After what feels like an eternity Jason’s screams subside.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO!?” His voice is still raised in anger.

Talon sits up and looks at him again. He raises the dagger, sharp grin baring too much teeth as red drips down the blade.

Bruce’s eyes widen. He feels his entire body vibrating, flushed with outrage but otherwise he can’t move, doesn’t even breathe.

Talon slowly, purposefully, wipes the blade clean on the sheets. Then he reaches back and jerks Jason up by his hair.

Bruce’s eyes lock onto to Jason’s face before anything else, searching to check that he’s alright. Bruce is immensely relieved to find his jaw clinched in defiance and eyes wide with rage. Those are Jason. He had worried he’d find defeat and fear in his expression. But that is not who Jason is; not his strong, resilient, stubborn son.

Jason focuses on Bruce and Bruce hopes that Jason is taking strength from him the way he’s taking it from Jason.

Jason is breathing hard, whether in anger or pain Bruce can’t tell, but it’s the rapid rising and falling of the boy’s chest that drags his eyes to the bloody marks carved into the pale flesh.

D.G. + T.W. in the center of a heart.

Large enough to take up his entire left breast. And deep enough to scar.

“A memento,” Talon hums, “Now, whenever our little Jay takes off his shirt or looks in the mirror, he’ll be reminded who he belongs to.” He looks back to Bruce, “Even if you somehow manage to make it home.”

A cold calm settles over Bruce. He remains silent. There’s nothing he can do, nothing to say. Whatever comes out of his mouth will only encourage the sick bastards.

They don’t usually ask for these kinds of favors from their superpowered friends, but _when_ they get home Bruce is getting Raven to heal that. Jason will never be forced to bear the physical evidence of this abuse. Never.

Talon smirks at Bruce and shoves Jason away by the hair. Jason sways back but stays sitting upright on the bed. Bruce gives him the smallest smile in acknowledgement of his mulishness.

Talon stands and starts to move toward the door. He pauses, looking down at the pile of clothes on the floor, leans over, takes the belt out of the loops of Jason’s pants with an amused quirk to his eyebrows. Then he leaves.

Bruce keeps his eye on him as he exits and it doesn’t escape his notice that Talon also took the knife with him. He’s suddenly worried for Dick again.

“Bruce!”

Jason’s warning is too late, not that Bruce could have done anything anyway. He feels a needle sink into his neck, just above the high collar of his suit.

His cowl, cape, gauntlets, belt, boots and any removable piece of reinforced armor had been stripped earlier along with the boys’ and all that remains is the titanium-Kevlar weave body suit.

A wave of warmth spreads out from the spot, setting his nerves tingling and his blood on fire. The world narrows to the assault of sensation. His suddenly oversensitive skin feels too hot where the suit clings and goose bumps break out over the flesh open to the cooler air of the room. A pleasant haze settles over his mind. He blinks slowly and his head lolls back. As he pants with need, he’s vaguely aware, in the back of his mind, that he’s been drugged.

“B-Bruce?”

Jason’s voice is small, quiet, far away. He’s somewhere beyond the pulsing fluttering in his groin, beyond the tightening of his cock and the prickling sensation at the base of his spine. He can’t focus on anything other than touching, than being touched.

“Don’t worry,” a sly voice says from miles away, hardly more than a whisper, “he’s fine. I just had a feeling he’s going to need some extra motivation for this next part.”

Bruce can’t fight it, he drown in the euphoria, feels like he’s sinking into warm water. He gives in to the need and rolls his hips searching for friction.

“What—what are you doing?”

Bruce feels jostling behind him. When he leans into it, he hears a low rumbling laugh. Then he’s shoved forward and in the same moment he thinks he’s going to smack his face on the floor his hands shoot out to catch himself.

“Bruce, can you hear me? He’s freed you. You can fight whatever that is…”

“He really can’t. Fight it, that is. He can hear you just fine, though.”

“What did you do to him?”

“A truly genius bit of pharmaceutical science, if I do say so myself. Your daddy and I have a lot in common so I surmised most normal drugs wouldn’t work on him either. Fortunately, I keep some of his DNA around. This is a designer drug, coded to his precise genetic make-up, to chemically provoke and sustain arousal and suggestibility.”

There’s a gulping sound that is somehow louder than all the words.

“Su—suggestibility?”

There’s a warm hand around the back of his neck, gently urging him to stand. He sighs in relief at the touch and follows easily.

“Yes, Jason.”

Bruce goes willingly when he’s nudged forward. He looks through his heavy lids and sees Jason in a way he’s never noticed before. The boy’s teal eyes are bright and wide, plush lips parted, face still pink from crying earlier but wilting in concern. Bruce feels his cock twitch against his tight suit.

 _NO!_ he screams at himself. _This isn’t right. This isn’t you._

Now that he’s acclimated to the sudden rush of sensations his mind seems be his own. But it’s not enough to wrest control of his body away from the chemical onslaught holding him captive.

Jason’s expression hardens, lips forming a line, eyes glaring over Bruce’s shoulder.

“As cliché and useless as this probably is,” Jason implores, “Please don’t do _this_. Whatever you want—” he pauses and takes a steadying breath, “ _Anything…_ I’ll do anything, no fighting, no arguments, just... just don’t… just not this. Don’t make _him_ do this…”

Bruce is torn. He can’t imagine how he’ll live with himself if this happens, if _he_ takes such an active role in hurting Jason. But he also can’t see how he can live with himself if Thomas takes Jason’s offer and everything after is the result of Jason’s sacrifice to save him…

“Wait here for a moment, Bruce,” Thomas says and even buried under the immense tactile ecstasy, he tries to raise his arms, tries to pick a fight he knows he’ll lose just to get too injured for this to happen. His muscles don’t even twitch.

Thomas moves past him and grips Jason’s chin in his hand, careful to stand enough to the side so that Bruce can see everything.

“Oh, Jason,” he rumbles darkly, “That’s so very sweet of you to offer. But a) I don’t have to make a deal with you to get ‘whatever I want.’ You’ll do ‘anything’ regardless. And b) the only thing I want you to do without fighting is to reciprocate when I shove my tongue in your mouth. Refuse to comply with that at your own risk but feel free to thrash and kick and plead all you want during everything else.”

Bruce sees Jason shudder and an internal battle rages between his brain and his genitals over how he should react to that. The warmth under his skin surges and his brain loses that fight. His cock hardens uncomfortably in his pants.

Thomas leans in, closing the space between his and Jason’s mouths. He pauses less than an inch away to search Jason’s face with a cruel smile.

Jason glares at him, staring him right in the eye. Thomas’s grin widens at the display of defiance. Bruce thinks Jason’s right, that Thomas is hoping he disobeys.

When Thomas tilts his head and moves those last centimeters, Jason angles his to accept the press of rough lips. When Thomas’s tongue coaxes his teeth apart, Jason opens his mouth to allow his attacker to lick inside.

Jason stubbornly keeps his eyes open the whole time, fixed on the far wall.

Indignation and sadness flood Bruce’s brain and he tries to move again, to no avail. He can only stand helplessly on the side and watch.

Finally, Thomas pulls away, keeping Jason’s chin gripped tightly between thumb and forefinger.

“I’m going to give you that one,” he murmurs quietly, breath causing Jason’s hair to flutter, “But I said ‘reciprocate’ not ‘tolerate’ and you’d do well to remember that going forward.”

Jason leans in a fraction and sneers, “When we get out of this, I’m going to kill you. And unless Dickie wants to do the honors, I’m going to kill your degenerate sidekick too.”

Bruce thinks he might even hand Jason the weapon before settling in to watch.

Thomas’s grin just widens, “Come here, Bruce.”

Bruce’s body starts toward the bed.

“Stop, Bruce.”

He’s surprised when he freezes at Jason’s command after only a single step. Judging by the scowl on Thomas’s face, the criminal is equally stunned. He must have underestimated Jason; didn’t expect him to think about the fact that the drug can make Bruce extremely susceptible to suggestion but can’t pick and choose whose commands he listens to. Or perhaps he hadn’t considered it himself.

The hand on Jason’s chin goes to his throat and squeezes so hard the air rushes out of his mouth and he turns red in seconds. Thomas’s free hand buries in Jason’s gut and he instinctively tries to gasp through blocked airways.

“Very clever,” Thomas hisses. The hand not choking the life from Jason disappears between his legs. Bruce can’t see it, can only guess at what it’s doing to make Jason’s eyes squeeze closed and teeth grit in pain, but he’s pretty sure he’s right.

“I had a feeling I’d be needing this,” Thomas sighs, fishing something out of his pocket.

He holds up a length of black leather with a metal ring in the middle and a buckle on the end.

Jason’s eyes narrow a fraction before he looks up at Bruce.

“It’s ok, Bruce,” he soothes, voice calm, quiet, and sure, “This isn’t your fault. I’m ok. Don’t—”

“Touching,” mocks Thomas as he shoves the gag into Jason’s mouth and secures it behind his head.

Bruce’s cock leaps at the sight of Jason’s mouth, opened wide by the ring, while his mind rages. Rationally he knows Jason’s right, appreciates his reassurance. But he can’t offer Jason the same and he’s much more worried for his kid than for himself. He can’t tell him how sorry he is, can’t tell him that he’ll fix this, can’t explain that his body is suddenly ravenous for something his mind has never once even remotely considered. He can’t explain that his mind is split, that Bruce is still here, still seeing through his own eyes, still trying to restrain himself, but the chemically induced arousal has overridden the primitive parts of his brain; that every cell is working against him, wants to touch and lick and pinch and kiss and bite every inch of Jason’s exposed flesh even while he screams in his mind that HE doesn’t want that.

“Go ahead, Bruce,” Thomas instructs, standing aside to give him unfettered access, “Do and say whatever you _feel_.”

Bruce tries to convince his himself that what he really feels like doing is beating the life out of the other man. But it’s not. The blanket of lust prickling over his body is _hot_ and he practically sighs in relief with the permission to finally act.

Long years of practice have made getting into and out of the suit quick and efficient. He unseals the seam at his hips that connects the top and bottom halves and lowers the concealed zipper over his sensitive member.

His eyes never leave Jason’s body. They rake over every hard muscle, every sculpted line; zones in on the bob of his throat as he tries to swallow the saliva building in his mouth, the blush of his cheeks, the lingering tracts of now dried tears, the ‘o’ formed by his lips and the pink tongue now exposed to the light of day.

“Jason,” Bruce hears himself whisper and remembers Thomas said he could talk about what he’s feeling. Frustration flashes through him. He’s miserable at communicating his emotions, and when he’s forced to express them it’s while they’re being manipulated by a drug. “Jason… you’re so—”

 _Stop_ , he commands himself, _don’t make this worse._

“You’re so… beautiful,” he finishes, breathless and awed.

When Jason’s body flushes red at the compliment and shivers under the attention, Bruce forgets that he was undressing and all but lunges for him.

He feels complete, encompassing bliss as his hands finally grip Jason’s skin, as his lips press needily to Jason’s neck. He feels a ping of regret that Jason’s hands are still locked behind his back disallowing him from wrapping them around Bruce, but it’s quickly drowned by the unadulterated delight of Jason’s weight in his lap.

Bruce jerks Jason’s hips forward, feels those strong legs wrap around his waist and grinds his aching bulge against the boy’s ass. He moans at the friction.

His lips travel lower, biting and sucking little purple blooms into the skin of Jason’s shoulder, collar bone, chest, finally nibbling lightly at his nipple.

Jason gasps and shudders again and the part of Bruce that is still himself knows that Jason’s mind is at war as well, that his body is going to react to Bruce’s touch against his will. Bruce hates that Jason is being forced to endure this.

The part of him overtaken by animal desire sucks on the nipple for a moment before biting harder and rolling his groin against Jason.

One hand slips up under Jason’s bound arms and rests between his shoulder blades, while the other dances around Jason’s hip to the small of his back, down the swell of his ass, before dipping between the cheeks and brushing lightly at the plug Thomas had left.

Bruce is so hot, so desperate, his own inner voice is almost completely drowned as he makes one last weak attempt to beg himself to stop.

Jason stiffens in his arms as Bruce pulls on the toy and there’s a lewd squelching sound as it pops free.

Bruce tosses the plug to the side and doesn’t waste time, immediately pressing two fingers into Jason’s come-slick hole. He feels sick at how open and wet Jason is from Thomas’s attack, even as his cock twitches at the discovery. It seems like so long ago, but it’s only been 20 minutes? Maybe 30.

Bruce finds Jason’s prostate, presses on it, and begins to massage.

A moan is wrenched from Jason and the urge is too strong. He leans up and licks the saliva sliding down the other’s chin from his pried open mouth. _He_ hates forcing Jason to arousal but is physically incapable of stopping himself. And he’s not sure he would if he could. He’s being forced to fuck Jason; is it kinder to ignore him, to not acknowledge this anymore than they have to, and just get it done? Or to try to make it as pleasurable an experience as possible under the circumstances? So that when they inevitably recall this horror it feels even a little less like rape and a little more like making love; that it doesn’t make Jason think Bruce is using him the way Thomas did, that Jason doesn’t conflate them to the point he can’t look at Bruce anymore and runs, so that he can distinctly recall the difference is that Bruce cared.

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, Bruce’s body _is_ seeking its own pleasure. It just so happens that what pleases him is a pleased partner.

He is not, after all, a monster.

He continues his ministrations, kissing and biting everywhere he can reach, only avoiding the still bleeding carving, rubbing at his prostate until Jason collapses into him and thrusts his hips.

Bruce presses gentle kisses to the side of Jason’s face as he removes his fingers and reaches between them _finally_ freeing himself from the too-tight yet frictionless confines of his suit. His cock is scorching hot to the touch.

He presses the tip to Jason’s hole, wraps the arm around his waist, and pauses.

He can feel wetness against Jason’s cheeks when the boy nuzzles his face into Bruce’s neck, the closest thing to permission Jason can manage. He’s crying again. Bruce has only seen Jason cry twice, in all their years together. It kills a piece of his soul to see it twice in an hour.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into Jason’s ear.

He pushes in slowly, deliberately. The part that doesn’t want to hurt Jason grateful for the part that wants to feel every single snug centimeter.

Bruce surrounds him with both arms, pulling him close in a protective—possessive—embrace, when he bottoms out. Jason hooks his chin over Bruce’s shoulder and tightens the grip of his thighs to hug him closer.

He can’t hold out any longer. Every square inch of where they’re touching, their torsos flush against each other, sends cascading waves of ecstasy rolling through his body. Every point at which his naked skin meets Jason’s is a stab of longing, of wretched desire.

He uses his strength to lift Jason until just the head remains inside, then slams him back down.

He’s already done that a second and third time before he’s even able to think, _too hard, be gentle_. Not that he can control his pacing. He’s enraptured, his extreme yearning pushing him to set an extreme pace.

“You feel _so_ good.” Bruce is horrified when he realizes those breathless words came from him.

Jason’s small grunts and quiet sobs echo in his ears as he drives into him ruthlessly, over and over again.

As does Thomas’s cruel laugh before, “Go ahead, Bruce. Now tell him what you’re _thinking_.”

Bruce turns his head to press his lips to Jason’s ear, doesn’t bother trying to resist the order. He wants Jason to know.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Bruce mumbles, finally breaking a little himself. He can feel his own tears stinging his eyes. “Jason… I—I can’t stop… I’m so sorry… I love you, I don’t want to hurt you—I’m so sorry…”

Jason moves his face back to burrow into Bruce’s neck again. Gagged and restrained, it’s the only way Jason can communicate his feelings.

Bruce tries to choke back a groan when he comes. He holds Jason down tight against him, cock buried as deep as he can reach, as his seed mingles with what was there already.

He clings to Jason even as the boy shudders and tries to press closer, as if he could sink into Bruce.

Abruptly, Bruce feels cooler, sore… and less out of control. He clenches his fist and his breath catches when his body responds to his command.

He squeezes Jason’s hip firmly to let him know, hoping his message gets across.

Jason slowly relaxes and shifts, allowing Bruce to more easily move him. He gives a pained little groan when Bruce pulls out of his battered hole, come dripping out down along Bruce’s shaft.

Despite the lingering effects of the drug, Bruce moves like cat, quick and graceful, no hint of warning. He’s not quite at full strength but more than enough to still be one of the most proficient fighters in the world.

It’s not enough as Thomas blocks the swing and butts his head into Bruce’s nose, stunning him long enough to get him pinned and the cuff resecured.

Thomas shoves him off the bed and the back of his head smacks into the floor. The dual injuries make his vision swim, but Bruce can still make out Thomas’s grin. Sees him approach Jason who falls onto his back and manages to land a kick to Thomas’s hip, nearly making the man buckle.

Thomas regains his balance and grabs Jason’s ankle, tugging him closer to the edge of the bed.

“Fucking brat,” he grumbles as he smacks away Jason’s other leg and plunges two fingers into Jason’s abused passage, swirls them and tugs at his rim roughly, until Jason gives in and cries out.

Then he shoves the digits into Jason’s still open mouth and wipes them on his tongue. Jason cringes and tries to roll away. Thomas grabs hold of his face and holds him in place.

“He’s like a father to you, isn’t he?” he taunts cruelly, “And you’re like a son to him. How does he taste? Can you tell the difference between him and me?”

Bruce growls and struggles to sit up.

The last thing he sees is Thomas’s foot coming at his face.

 


	5. History Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Thomas and Talon's Jason?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our characters talk about some disturbing things here and Owlman and Talon are absolute evil garbage so... please tread carefully. If you don't mind disturbing things and don't want to be spoiled, don't look at the new tags. If you have things that trigger you and want to be safe please check the updated tags.
> 
> I love you guys.

Thomas nudges the unconscious man sprawled on the floor with his foot. His grip on the younger one, the one he calls ‘Jason,’ is strong enough that Cassandra can see red outlining each finger.

Something about that one seems… vaguely familiar. Very vaguely.

Thomas’s eyes find her at last and she sits up straighter. She got to play earlier, and she knows she should just be happy—grateful—for whatever she gets, but she’s drawn to this ‘Jason.’ He’s beautiful, more her type than Thomas or Dickie if she’s honest. And she thinks his eyes are pretty, especially when he cries.

A grin splits Thomas’s face and she shivers. She can read that smile, the dark shadow that passes over his face, the twitch of his fingers against the chin in his hand, like a book. Better.

It’s finally her turn.

Thomas glances down between Jason’s legs where she can see that the younger man is achingly hard. She has the overwhelming urge to help him with that.

“Guess my pathetic little brother got you in the mood,” Thomas drawls, almost casually, releasing his grip on Jason’s face, “I’m tempted to leave you unsatisfied. But I think you’d prefer that.”

Thomas motions her over without taking his eyes off the bound boy. She crawls across the bed on her hands and knees. Jason’s eyes grow wide when he sees her and he looks… worried? Disgusted? But _for_ her, on her behalf… he’s not scared of her. He doesn’t think she’s disgusting. He’s… upset that she might be hurt?

She smiles at him as sweetly, as reassuringly, as possible.

He still folds in on himself and sobs weakly, “No… please…”

Something in his voice yanks at something in her heart. But it’s buried deep enough that she can ignore it.

“I’m taking that one to the cells we prepped for them,” Thomas says, ignoring him and kicking at the man on the ground again, “Make sure our boy here get’s off before I come back.”

He turns to sneer at Jason, “I don’t think it’ll take much.”

The boy’s pretty teal eyes burn with anger as he glares at her master. He’s new, she thinks, Thomas is being lenient because Jason doesn’t know the rules. But he’ll learn to be more careful. Thomas likes a little stubbornness and fight but he won’t stand for outright insubordination.

Thomas lifts the heavy bulk off the floor with practiced ease, carelessly tosses him over a shoulder, and strides from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Jason growls below her when they hear a bolt slide into place, locking the door from the outside.

She watches, curious, as he then swings his legs, using the momentum to sit up. He hisses when he stands, pausing mid step to suck in a breath and squeeze his eyes shut. Even if body language wasn’t her native tongue, she’d see clearly the pain etched into his handsome features.

He limps when he moves again, heading for the window.

She moves, quick and catlike, to stand in front of him.

“No,” she’s says simply, placing her hand lightly on his chest to stop him.

Her touch freezes him and he leans into it ever so slightly, the anguish in him intensifying, like she hurt him somehow.

She drops her hand back to her side. She doesn’t want to hurt him. But they must do what Thomas told them too. And he’ll be back very soon.

His eyes lift to meet hers and she feels a pang echo through her soul, something tugs at the edges of her memory.

“Cass,” he whispers, and she smiles at the way her name sounds on his lips, “Cass, baby, please try to remember me… We have to get out of here. Get Dick and Bruce. We have to go home, baby. Please. I need your help.”

Desperation pours off him in crashing waves. His eyes wide, pleading with her.

“They’re locked,” she says and adds, “and shatterproof.”

She sees the moment he gives up. The moment his strength and resolve dissipate.

She catches him when he collapses into her arms and heaves him back onto the bed.

Her fingers dance around the muscles of his calves, his thighs. Her nails scrape lightly at the valleys between the muscles of his abdomen, across his nipples.

He groans and she smiles when his hips lift off the bed, just a fraction of an inch for a fraction of a second, before he remembers himself and pulls them back down. She presses a kiss to his chest, between his pecs, and he sighs.

There’s something familiar about all this, the taste of his skin the way his muscles move under her fingertips, the sound of that sweet little sigh. But it’s distant, nebulous.

“Cass, please,” his voice is somehow rough and smooth at the same time, cracking with desire but melodic, “You’re not yourself. I… I don’t— _hah_!”

She likes the choked gasp he lets out as she takes him into her mouth, sliding down to the base in one smooth motion. She knows she’s very good at this. She can read ever twitch muscle, every breathy gasp, and knows just what to do. She’s had a lot of practice.

It isn’t long before his once flagging erection surges back to life. Her tongue flicks over the head of his cock, dipping into the slit on the end and tasting his precome while inhaling the musky scent of his arousal.

The pull on the back of her mind becomes much more insistent.

But her highest priority is still obeying Thomas’s orders.

She pulls off him with a wet pop and she hears him swallow hard. He jerks against her as she kisses her way up his torso.

“Wait—” he gasps when she takes his cock in hand and hovers over him. His is face red and wet, eyes practically glowing from under thick lashes, “Cass… please… I don’t want it to be like this…”

He’s so sweet, she thinks, as she smiles kindly down at him.

“It will be fine,” she offers as she sinks onto him.

His hips thrust up involuntarily and this time she gasps.

She can’t ignore it, that feeling… there’s something here, something… different. It’s odd… it’s almost like she knows him but… but she doesn’t know anyone other than Dickie and Thomas. There’s a feeling there that she doesn’t have a word to describe and it feels wrong because she doesn’t know him… and it feels right because she does.

That feeling, that confusion, that overwhelming contradiction, drives her on. She fucks herself on Jason’s cock, letting her hands brace herself against his broad chest. He’s crying beneath her. But he’s also pushing up to meet her every time she comes back down.

Thomas was right. It didn’t take much. Almost like just the feel of her was all he needed.

She brushes his hair out of his face and wipes at the latest of the many tears that stain his cheeks.

He leans into her touch again.                                                                                

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dick watches through the glass dividers as Owlman dumps Bruce none too gently onto the floor of the cell next to him and starts to strip him out of the Batman suit.

Before the growl even leaves Dick’s tongue a jerk on his hair brings his attention back to _dick_ down his throat.

“Focus on me, pretty bird,” Talon’s delighted, cruel voice sings from above him. He digs his nails into Dick’s scalp and gives a particularly hard thrust before returning to the slow, steady pace he’d been holding for at least 20 minutes now.

The long cuff is off, allowing the circulation back into Dick’s arms. But now both wrists and ankles are cuffed into miniature versions, seamless, no lock to pick, attached to chains just long enough to allow him to move around the cell.

He’s fully naked now. Talon had injected him with something to move him, knocked him out, removed the Nightwing uniform from where it pulled uncomfortably on his bound arms and re-secured him while he was unconscious.

He’d woken to his evil twin leisurely fucking his mouth.

Movement in the corner of his eye draws his attention back to the other cell.

Thomas presses his hand to a scanner and the door to Bruce’s glass cage seals shut. Bruce is waking up, rolling over onto his hands and knees to cough at the floor for a moment, before sitting up and getting to his feet.

For some reason Thomas has dressed Bruce is simple gray sweatpants. Dick feels a twinge of envy that Bruce is allowed clothes while he and Jason must go without.

Then Bruce sees him. And right before the emotion in his mentor’s steely blue eyes turns to surprise and rage, Dick sees that something in Bruce has snapped. He’s broken in a way Dick thought was impossible.

Dick swallows reflexively in horror at what could have happened while he was gone to finally shatter Batman’s will.

“Fuck!” Talon cries out at the sudden constriction of the tight, wet, heat around him. He jerks Dick closer by the hair, drives cruelly into his mouth half a dozen times, then comes down Dick’s throat without a word of warning.

Talon laughs as Dick chokes, as he pulls away and Dick drops to his hands, coughing and breathing hard.

When he finally looks up, Talon is already out of the cell, door sealed behind him, and slipping into his own, black sweats.

Thomas’s eyes flicker between watching the muscles of his Richard’s ass clench as he steps into the pants, and back to where Dick is kneeling on the floor. His gaze cloudy with lust.

“So, what did you get up to while Dickie and I had our fun?” Talon’s playful, undisturbed tone drawing Owlman’s attention back to him with a mean smile curling his lips.

“I used the drug.”

“Aw!” Talon pouts, “I wanted to be there for that.”

Thomas shoves the younger man against the wall by the door and kisses him roughly.

“Don’t worry,” he growls when he pulls away, casting a smug smile at Bruce, “It’s not like they’re going anywhere.”

Bruce scowls but remains silent. Dick knows, or rather hopes, after seeing defeat on Bruce’s face for the first time in his life, that he’s subtly looking for weaknesses in their prisons.

“Speaking of,” Talon says, “We didn’t really expect three of them. I don’t think it’s a good idea for two of them to share a cell.”

Thomas examines the room for a moment.

“Our Jason’s room is still quite secure,” he says finally, “I’ll send Cassandra to look it over and make any adjustments needed. It will suffice until we can find a more permanent solution.”

“You could send him straight off to Themyscira for training. By the time he got back we wouldn’t need it.”

Dick flinches at that. The implications there are… he doesn’t want to even think about it. It’s one thing to be split up in the manor. Getting home will be a lot harder if they’re scattered all over this shitty planet.

“Hm,” Thomas hums, moving to the door, “That is an option. But I’m not quite finished with him yet. Are you?”

“No,” Talon says, following. Something sounding vaguely like genuine emotion scratching the surface of his voice. “He reminds me of _him._ The way he is now… they _he_ was then.”

“Exactly.”

They reach for the door.

“Wait!”

This is ridiculous. Dick can’t stand it anymore. He _has_ to know.

“I’m sorry. Please just… please tell us what happened to your Jason,” Dick says, pressing himself up against the glass. “Please,” he adds one more time for good measure.

Talon and Thomas exchange a look.

“It’s not fair to leave Jason out,” Talon scolds.

“I’ll go tell Jason,” Thomas smiles, eyes glinting wickedly, “You go ahead and tell these two.”

Thomas strides through the door, leaving them with evil Dick.

Talon lets the quiet set in, lets Dick start fidgeting uncomfortably, before he grins.

Dick can’t help but think it looks at least a little forced.

“Fine,” he sighs, feigning exasperation, “I can tell it’s just _killing_ you, not knowing.”

Dick scowls and he sees Bruce scrunch his nose at the tasteless joke.

“It wasn’t really that big of a deal,” Talon starts, looking at his nails, “It’s not like it was something he hadn’t done before. But he took it wrong. You know how he can be.”

Talon glances up at them with a mean smirk, “Hot headed, jumping to conclusions, assuming the worst.”

That’s not exactly the Jason Dick knows. Sure, he can be a little… impetuous sometimes but he doesn’t usually pass judgement without evidence and while he may outwardly appear to be a cynic, Dick knows that it’s largely an act.

“Anyway, I guess I should start from the beginning. Did your Jason’s parents die when he was young?” Talon doesn’t really wait for them to answer before barreling on but Dick nods, it’s close enough, and he’s pretty sure his doppelgänger notices, “What did he do when he was a kid, alone, on the meanest streets in your world? How did he survive before before you took him in?”

Bruce growls at the same moment Dick says, “He stole what he needed.”

Dick looks at Bruce, eyes narrowed in confusion.

Talon latches on to Bruce’s reaction as well and is looking at him with that cruel smile that almost seems to be a permanent fixture on his face.

“Is _that_ how he met you?”

“No,” Bruce snarls.

“Yes,” Dick says simultaneously, confusion deepening.

Talon’s grinning like an asshole. He just stands there, watching them, seemingly content to wait until Dick and Bruce get on the same page.

“Bruce—“

“Let it go, Dick.”

“Actually, you should probably just tell him,” Talon hums, “It’s important to the story and I imagine your Jason would prefer it come from you rather than me.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Bruce growls through gritted teeth, hands clinching into fists at his sides.

“If you insist,” Talon taunts as he faces Dick, eyes glinting cruelly, “Thomas met our Jason on the street. He _was_ actually trying to steal the hubcaps from the car. But Thomas recognized him from his night job.”

Everything about Talon’s body language is screaming at Dick to prepare for something horrible to come out of that familiar mouth.

“Oh, Dickie, you really are too sweet for the world. How on earth are you real?” Talon laughs, “When darling Jay needed money and couldn’t steal it, he’d sell the only thing he had.”

Dick swallows hard and shakes his head. No way, he’d have known. Jason would have told him.

“He was the prettiest little whore in Gotham,” Talon sings, delighting in their discomfort.

Dick grits his own teeth.

“That’s your Jason. Not—“

“Dick.” Bruce’s voice is frighteningly gentle.

Dick’s jaw drops open a little when he sees the look of sadness in Bruce’s eyes. The truth is like a slap in the face.

“Looks like there’s a few things your little wing still keeps from you,” Talon snickers.

Before Dick can open his mouth to retort, to say that Jason had specifically told him he’d never been with a man before, Bruce speaks, again in the soft, soothing tone that freaks Dick out.

“He didn’t keep it from you, Dick. He doesn’t remember—“

“Oooh, really?” Talon asks with way too much glee, “Poor baby. How’d he manage that?”

Dick is ignoring his evil twin. He keeps his eyes on Bruce. His heart has broken a little bit more for Jason. At this rate, it’ll be in pieces before they leave this place.

“I don’t know,” Bruce answers, keeping his own gaze fixed on Dick, also ignoring Talon, “Maybe it’s something he’s repressed. Maybe there’s some damage from when the Joker… from when he died that the Pit couldn’t heal.”

“Either way,” Bruce adds, turning back to Talon, deadly serious, “You’ll leave it alone.”

Talon grins. “Will I? Why would I do that?”

Bruce glares at him through the glass but Talon’s eyes turn back to Dick.

“Unless you can think of any _incentive_ for me to keep it to myself…”

“What do you want?” Dick spits.

“Aw babe, I think you have a pretty good idea what I want.”

“Fine.”

“Dick—“ Bruce tries to reason.

“ _Fine_ ,” Dick says firmly. He knows Talon just wants him to participate in whatever he’s going to do to him next. Dick can fake that. He can carry that. If it means one less thing for Jason to carry, Dick will do whatever it takes.

“Excellent!” Talon exclaims with way too much enthusiasm. “Now, where was I? Oh right, Thomas runs the crime in this town, including the prostitution. Jay was never official or anything. Kids are too hot, smart crooks, even the super kind, don’t deal in them,” Talon grins at the twin looks of disgust and pure hatred on Dick’s and Bruce’s face. “But the kid was selling himself and the girls in one of Thomas’s places liked him, took to trying to protect him when they could.”

Talon sits back on the chair by the wall, rests his right ankle on his left knee.

“Anyway, when Thomas caught him with the car, well, it was probably pretty similar to your reaction, Brucie. Thomas thought he was an audacious little shit,” Talon’s face darkens and the edges of his smile go razor sharp, “He has uses for audacious little shits. And if nothing else, he figured he’d at least recoup the value of his time spent waiting for Jason to put the car back together.”

He pauses for a moment. Let’s what he just said sink in until—

“Wait… you mean he… he…” Dick stutters, stepping back away from the glass like it stung him, “But you just said kids—“

“I said smart crooks don’t _deal_ in kids. Doesn’t mean they’re uninterested. Though, Thomas isn’t overly interested, generally speaking. Just likes a specific kind of person. Boys ballsy and dumb enough to try to steal from him? With Jay’s… experience? He’s not gonna pass that up. None of us would.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Bruce squares up like he’s ready to try to break down the reinforced plexiglass cage.

Talon’s eyes get a little distant for a moment and his smile softens, like he’s in a fond memory. Then he focuses on Bruce. He stands and moves into what would be Bruce’s space if it weren’t for the thick clear wall between them.

He gets right up to the glass and gazes up at Bruce, eyes gleaming wickedly. “It means Jason was a whore and we used him like one,” he says nastily, “All of us. Thomas, Alfred, me—”

“Al—Alfred?” Dick mutters weakly. The thought of Alfred, who, in a lot of ways was warmer and more fatherly and nurturing than Bruce had ever been; with whom, back in their world, their Jason has a special bond… the thought of Alfred even thinking about touching any of them is so outrageous Dick can’t wrap his mind around it.

Talon looks back to him and Dick resolves to not speak again for the rest of the story. Every time he or Bruce latch on to something the evil bastard says, the next words are always worse.

“Yeah, pretty bird. Al _loved_ Jason. His favorite thing to do was—”

“I don’t want to know.”

“—bend him over in the kitchen, after Thomas or I had a go at him,” Talon’s expression is almost manic as he ignores Dick. He’s enjoying the look of revulsion and intense discomfort he’s bringing out in them, “fuck him with a cucumber then slice it up and make Jay his famous cucumber sandwich.”

Dick feels like he’s going to be sick. The look of utter horror on Bruce’s face is something, despite all their years and all the terrible things they’ve witnessed, that Dick has never seen before.

Talon revels in their shocked silence for a moment before he sighs and rolls his eyes.

“It’s not like we were forcing him, you prude princesses. Not that we’re above that,” he winks and smirks when they both cringe before his face falls into something more serious, “but we loved him. And he loved us.”

Dick snorts. “You don’t fucking know what love is, you demented psychopath,” Dick can’t stop himself from snarling.

“Now, now Dickie. You want me to finish the story, don’t you? You keep being so mean and I’ll have to stop.”

“Good. Stop then,” Dick spits at him, he’s lost all patience. He wants out of here. He wants to go home, get the whole family together, wrap Jason up in all the blankets and then have everyone hold him close. He knows Talon is talking about a person they’ve never met, that with how different he and his evil twin are, maybe this Jason was very different from his. But it doesn’t change the facts. That there isn’t a strong enough word in any language Dick knows to describe how deeply and fundamentally fucked up this place is. “I think I’ve heard enough to guess at your Jason’s fate.”

His evil doppelganger raises his eyebrows, “Oh? Care to share with the class?”

“He either tried to get away from you so you killed him or… or he killed himself to be free of you.”

Talon stands deadly still. Not breathing, not blinking. Only his nostrils flare. His eyes burn with rage.

Dick thinks he hit pretty close to home.

Slowly, Talon smiles, something colder than ever before, heartless in a way that makes Dick’s blood turn to ice.

“A couple years after we brought him home,” Talon says quietly, voice dripping in malice, “He was 14? Maybe 15. Thomas took Jason to help him with some Syndicate business. Apparently, he caught Ultraman’s attention. Never one to let an opportunity to gain leverage pass, Thomas set it up. Told Jason he was working late one night, to meet him at his office in the evening. It needed to be Jason, not his criminal alter-ego, someone innocent in the eyes of the public. And, needing it to look as bad as possible, and suspecting that Jason wouldn’t agree anyway, Thomas didn’t tell him.”

Dick’s breathing is short and ragged. He feels the soreness in his throat that comes from trying to hold back tears. Bruce braces himself against the glass looking worn out and defeated, his skin a grayish white as the color drains out of his face.

“Thomas never showed, but Ultraman did. He took what he wanted, what Thomas told him he could have. Fucked Jason so hard he almost killed him. Jason stumbled back into the Roost with half a dozen broken bones, basically purple from all the bruises, a bloody mess. He had obviously been crying but wasn’t anymore. Didn’t want Thomas to see that vulnerability.”

Talon’s eyes are dark and he’s not smiling anymore. He almost looks… angry.

“Until he saw that Thomas was watching the security footage from his office, downloading the video into secure files, setting up timers… all the things he needed to do to potentially use it to blackmail Ultraman. Then Jason cried again. And yelled. Shouted, as best he could with broken ribs and crushed windpipe, at us about how he’d been so stupid, how he should have known, should have seen, that we were using him, that we never really cared,” Talon’s mouth twitches up but there’s no humor there this time, “So we _showed_ him he was wrong.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dick mumbles, running his fingers through his hair has he staggers back away from the glass. Out of the corner of his eyed he sees Bruce sink to the floor. The weight of this grotesque story is greater than the multiverse.

“He never tried to run away from us,” Talon says darkly, “But he did blow his brains out in the library.”

The silence is heavy and thick as it rolls between them, stretching for a small eternity.

“Just to clarify,” Dick finally manages to rasp, “Just so that I understand… you—you thought that the best way to show him you cared, that you weren’t just using him, after such a violent and dehumanizing encounter, was to—to offer _more_ abuse?”

“Just because the comfort we offered was physical, just because it came from us, doesn’t make it abuse,” Talon growls.

Dick stares at him, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, do you expect me to believe that after what you just said happened to your Jason, when he returned to you battered and broken, angry and betrayed, that he was _willing_ to let you creeps touch him? You’re deluded. And you’re very sick. And Jason may have pulled the trigger, but you’re the ones who killed him.”

Talon’s face twists with fury into something ugly and mean, and for once, finally, Dick doesn’t recognize himself.

“Oh, sweet, stupid little Dickie. I’m so glad you’re such an idiot.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jason gapes at Thomas, eyes wide. Cass is long gone, sent out to go check the security of a different room. But he wishes she was here, even brainwashed like she is, to ground him while he reels from this horrifying revelation.

“You’re one sick fuck,” he says softly. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. He hasn’t had a lot of time since waking up bolted to a wall on the worst version of Earth in the multiverse to contemplate the fate of his doppelganger. But that? Somehow, despite everything that’s happened to him here, what’s happened to Cass and Bruce and probably Dick… somehow, he’s still surprised.

Thomas just shrugs. “This is a harsher world than yours,” he dismisses coolly, cocking his head at Jason, “But from what I hear about you, it’s a world you could thrive in.”

Jason blinks at him in disbelief before snorting out a laugh. Then the absolute absurdity of the suggestion, the _offer_ , hits him and the laugh catches, maybe turns a little hysterical.

Thomas watches him, unphased as Jason starts laughing so hard his eyes water.

When he finally brings himself back under control he looks back to those soulless blue-gray eyes.

“You can’t be serious,” Jason scorns, because he knows the other man is very serious, before he adds angrily, “If you had honestly wanted something like that you should have gone about this whole encounter _very_ differently.”

Jason scowls at him. “I wouldn’t stay here for… well, anything.”

“You misunderstand, son,” Thomas says gently and it makes Jason’s skin crawl, “You don’t have a choice whether you stay or go. You’re staying. Your choice is _how_ you stay.”

“I’m not _your_ fucking son,” Jason growls at the endearment.

Thomas’s grin is knowing and cruel. “You’re not _his_ son either. Not anymore. Even if you were able to find a way home, he’ll never look you in the eye again.”

Thomas cups a hand to Jason’s face. Jason doesn’t bother pulling away. The other man is going to do what he wants.

“Your life there, whatever it was, it’s over now,” Thomas continues, “None of you will recover from this. You’ll drift apart and try to move on, but your family is broken. I’m offering you a new one; one that won’t judge or attempt to restrain your more violent tendencies; one that can appreciate the magnificent killer you are and make you better. You, and Cassandra, belong here.”

Jason stares at him, hardly able to believe that he’s hearing the other man correctly. But he doesn’t detect a hint of humor or deceit.

It doesn’t matter, he would never accept being an Owl, certainly not now, but he can’t help asking, “How could I ever trust you?”

Thomas’s eyes flash, like he actually thinks Jason is considering it, like he’s been waiting for this moment and has the perfect response. “I’ve got the Joker. He’s yours. To torture or kill… whatever you want.”

Jason wasn’t ready for that. The Joker had gone missing from his cell at Arkham about a week after Cassandra had disappeared. They’d assumed he had escaped again.

“Why—”

“I was going to kill him myself. Obviously, with the way my Jason died… there was no one to take revenge upon; no one’s blood to feel gushing over my hand as I beat them to death. I figured I’d find… closure killing _a_ Jason’s murderer.”

Jason recalls when he first came back to Gotham, when he first confronted Bruce, after having returned from the grave. He remembers how hurt and betrayed he felt, that he wasn’t important enough to merit the Joker’s death; that Bruce didn’t love him enough to kill the man who’d killed him.

And here’s Thomas Wayne, Jr. A rapist, a man who manipulated and sold his child partner to gain leverage on ally, a serial killer, who went to _another universe_ to avenge him.

Jason is surprised, and relieved, to find that he doesn’t feel a shred of emotional conflict.

Thomas’s thumb is rubbing lightly back and forth along his cheekbone. Jason looks up at him.

“First of all,” he starts, quiet but firm, “It’ll take a lot more than you can dish out to break my family. We’ll always take strength from each other and if you think we’ll drift apart because some asshole exploits us at our weakest, well, you don’t know my family. Death, violent resurrection, and madness couldn’t change the fact that Bruce is the only ‘father’ I’ve had that matters and mind control drugs won’t either,” he pauses, searching Thomas’s face for something, anything. He’s already talked more than he expected Thomas to allow. “And second? There is absolutely someone you can kill to take revenge for your Jason’s death.”

“Ultraman is too strong and too useful to justify making a move against him.”

“I wasn’t talking about Ultraman.”

Rage flashes across Thomas’s face as he realizes Jason is suggesting he kill himself. And there’s the emotion Jason had been looking for.

Thomas pats his cheek and then leans back away from him and sighs.

“I said you had a choice in how you stayed, and I suppose this insolence is your decision. You’re conditioning shouldn’t take nearly as long as Cassandra’s did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cries* I'm so sorry!
> 
> I wrote then rewrote this 3.5 times. I'm still not overly happy with it but it's time to move forward.


	6. Modus Operandi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talon is acting weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry it took so long to update. I have some important decisions to make about the plot of this fic and I'm wildly indecisive so please be patient with me <3
> 
> Also, as a general disclaimer, I have no plans to abandon any of my current fics. It's just that writing, even when it comes easy, takes time, effort, inspiration, and motivation. Sometimes I hit walls, get tired, stare at the screen for three hours before calling it a day, or write three pages only to delete them all and start over... so occasionally it can take longer to update. But updates are coming.
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://scandalsavagefanfic.tumblr.com/)

When Talon leaves and Bruce doesn’t immediately get to his feet, that’s when the panic starts to creep in.

Dick tries to push it back. Freaking out won’t help anyone and they’re better than that. They’ve all been tortured before. Just because this is sexual in nature doesn’t change the fact that it’s torture. And if Dick focuses on that, thinks of it like that, maybe he can stay in control long enough to get them home.

Because Bruce is…

 _Broken_ , Dick thinks as he looks at his mentor, still collapsed on the floor, leaning against the transparent walls. The façade of strength he put on in front of Talon seems to have been leeched out of him by the story, by the weight of whatever happened between him and Jason and Owlman. Now, Bruce is huddled in on himself, facing away from Dick. He is still as a rock but something about the way he’s holding himself… Dick knows he’s crying.

And that terrifies him.

“Bruce?” he says gently, approaching the shared corner at the front of their cells, “We have to find a way to get out of here.”

The older man doesn’t move, doesn’t respond at all. Whatever Dick missed while he was with Talon… it’s worse than anything Bruce has been through before.

To hold off the feelings of despair and hopelessness that threaten to overwhelm him, Dick focuses on what could have torn B apart like this. What could push Batman to the breaking point? A man who has lost or thought he lost all his children, the people he brought into his world of vigilantism; who has felt responsible for every bad thing that has ever happened to any of them.

“Bruce… look at me. Please?”

The man shifts but doesn’t turn toward him. “I… can’t.”

Dick swallows. There’s a hitch and wetness to the words. It’s so… vulnerable. He wants to hug him or take his hand or something, anything where Bruce can feel the reassuring pressure and warmth of his touch.

“B, whatever happened in there… it wasn’t your fault—“

“Doesn’t matter,” Bruce mutters, “I still did it.”

Anger ripples through him. They don’t have time for this. The situation is dire, one of the most extreme they’ve ever been in, and Bruce can’t hold it together until they get home?

“Bruce,” he says sharply, firmly. He’s encouraged when the other man stiffens at his tone. “You shutting down isn’t an option. We _have_ to get out of here before they send Jason to an island full of evil Wonder Women to be brainwashed. We have to get Cass home so we can undo whatever conditioning that entails.”

“I-I’m sorry… you don’t know—“

“You’re right, I don’t know. If you want to tell me so that I can explain to you every way that whatever happened wasn’t your fault, go for it. Let’s get started because I don’t know about you, but every second that goes by feels more and more damning to me.”

Finally, Bruce peeks over at him, blue eyes dim and bloodshot, face gray and pallid. “You can’t know that it wasn’t—“

“Yes. I can. I know _you_. And I know that whatever happened to make you freak out like this… you wouldn’t have done it if they didn’t force you somehow.” Dick softens his tone, “Tell me, B. I know it’s hard. But talk to me so we can move on and beat the shit out of some owls.”

Bruce stares at him, terror in his eyes, for a long moment. To the point where Dick is starting to feel that hopelessness seep into his heart.

“I… I ra—forced myself… on… on…” he folds in on himself again, unable to finish, but it’s all Dick needs.

“Bruce!” He barks, pocketing his horror to unleash on the actual monsters later, and using his own Batman voice with every ounce of authority and forcefulness he can muster.

It works. His mentor’s head snaps up and there’s a flicker of life in the eyes this time.

“It wasn’t you. It was the drug,” and the moment he says it, he knows that they’ll have to grab a sample before they leave so they can prove to B that there was no part of him that wanted to… that would have ever… that could do anything like that to Jason if an outside force wasn’t _making_ him. “Jason knows that. He’ll tell you himself when we get to him. You need to trust me on this for now, B. We need to table it until we get out of here, until we get Jay and Cass away from these creeps. I—I can’t do this on my own. I need you.”

Bruce blinks at him for a minute. Then Dick watches his eyes narrow and freeze into ice, his lips draw together in a hard line.

Hope swells in Dick’s chest as that familiar stubbornness and determination raise the color in Bruce’s face until he looks more himself.

“You’re right,” Batman growls, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

It takes less than an hour to go over every inch of their little cells. But it’s two before they look at each other through the clear divider, dread mirrored on each other’s faces. The walls are mirrored behind thick sheets of plexiglass that disappear beneath uninterrupted concrete floor and ceilings. The center of each ceiling has tiny little perforations that Dick has the sinking feeling, is for the dispersal of gas. The bed frames are nothing more than a simple, lightweight plastic platform that lifts the mattress off the floor. The sinks and toilets are also plastic and emerge out of the wall silently and randomly, for only a couple minutes, before disappearing again.

There is no way out except the door. The door that Dick can’t quite get close enough to while chained and that Bruce can’t break down.

As it dawns on them that their only hope is for their meticulous, well-prepared, evil counterparts to make a mistake, Dick feels deeply and truly scared.

He and Bruce decide to reevaluate their situation after getting some much-needed rest. Fresh eyes, fresh minds. But Dick’s dark thoughts and fears keep him tossing and turning; his dreams full of rainy rooftops, mirrors, grimy alleys, and bloody knives.

They are left alone for hours. If it wasn’t for the terrible ideas, the concern, floating around in his head at what the bastards might be doing to Jason or Cass, he’d be grateful for the reprieve.

It had been evening when they’d woken, secured to the wall in Thomas’s bedroom. It’s evening again when the little hairs on Dick’s body stand in unison, waking him from his shallow, tumultuous sleep.

Keeping his breathing deep and even and his body relaxed is so ingrained from training that it might as well be instinct. Dick cracks his eyes open, peering out to the rest of the cell from behind his lashes.

The lights have dimmed since Dick crawled into the bed, but it is still plenty bright enough to see the enigmatic glint in Talon’s eyes as his evil twin watches him sleep from the foot of the bed.

“I know you’re awake.”

Dick sighs in resignation and sits up. The moment he opens his eyes, Talon grabs his ankle and jerks him closer. On reflex, Dick tries to take a swing at him only to wrench his wrists painfully when the chains pull taut, keeping his hands next to his ears. Evil Dick must have shortened them while he slept.

Dick bites down on the surprised yelp, managing to cut it into little more than a startled squeak. He tosses a glance to the other cell, checking that Bruce is still asleep. It’d be best if the older man didn’t witness any more. He knows that is… unlikely. But at the very least a full sleep, uninterrupted by being forced to watch the assault of one of his kids, will do wonders for Batman’s mind. And they’re going to have any chance of getting out of here, they need Batman’s mind.

Talon starts to fold Dick in half. He hooks the short length of plastic chain linking Dick’s ankles, something Talon must have added while Dick slept, under his head to keep his legs suspended and access easy.

Dick gulps and takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what is about to happened. Talon cocks his head, gazing at him adoringly. That alone is enough to make Dick cringe but then the familiar fingers start to dance gently down his face and throat and chest, dragging softly over the ridges of his muscles.

He half gasps, half chokes when Talon’s other hand lightly pinches and tugs on the delicate skin of his balls, then presses the heel of his palm down with a gentle pressure.

“I know I might be biased,” Talon drawls quietly, thumb caressing Dick’s hole lovingly, “But you’re _so_ beautiful. Sometimes, it hurts to look at you because I know I’ll eventually have to turn away.”

Dick rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to make some biting retort about how, if Talon isn’t careful, that unchecked narcissism will turn him into the cockroach he should be. But the words are stolen away by the tender press of soft, pillowy lips. The thumb presses into him, just barely.

Then it’s gone.

And Talon’s lips leave him.

Dick frowns at his doppelganger as the other frees his legs from their uncomfortable position and allows him to move back a few inches.

“No one is going to bother any of you tonight. Get some rest, pretty bird,” Evil Dick says softly, reaching out and ruffling Dick’s hair. It looks like he wants to say more but he doesn’t.

Dick smacks his hand away, earning a small, unnervingly gentle, smile.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the familiar silhouette as it leaves the cell, dims the lights lower, and exits the room entirely.

The temptation to stay awake just because Talon told him to do the opposite is strong. But ultimately Dick knows he’ll need his strength and his wits. The reasons he and Bruce decided to sleep originally are still important.

Crawling back to lie his head on the pillow, Dick pretends not to notice Bruce’s lids flicker closed in his reflection on one of the mirrors.

He tries to sleep. But Talon’s uncharacteristic… ‘warmth’, gnaws at his dreams.

 

* * *

 

 

Jason notices the similarities first and that’s enough to make him even more supremely uncomfortable.

But it’s not until he starts to register the differences that the simmering, ever present _need_ to escape roars back to life in desperation.

They’ve locked him in _his_ room.

Some of the books in the bookcase are the same, others have titles and authors he’s never heard of before. Same goes for the movie posters on the wall, the music stacked by the disc player.

The furniture is arranged the same way he’d had it before he died. He remembers falling asleep reading in the oversized armchair facing the window. He recoils and turns away when he sees a book lying open on the armrest to mark the page.

There’s a stack of neatly folded laundry near the dresser, covered in a layer of dust, eternally waiting to be put away. It contrasts sharply with the fresh sheets on the bed.

It crosses his mind to try to squeeze into some of the clothes. But even just looking at it he knows there’s no way any of it will fit.

He was a lot smaller when he was 15.

That the room hasn’t been touched since the ghastly death of his evil self is… surprising, to say the least. He definitely didn’t think Thomas and Douche-Dick ‘cared’.

But that makes the things that are different, infinitely worse.

The shatterproof glass of the windows is to be expected. After Cass mentioned that Thomas’s room had them, he naturally assumed that all the windows were made of the stuff. Or at least so many that trying to find one that didn’t would take a while. He’s sure there are some that break easily should the Owls ever need a quick exit. Sure they know exactly which ones are which.

What Jason doesn’t expect are the spiked bars on either side of the panes.

Or the sheets of lead behind the drywall.

Or the reinforced steel door.

Or the telltale scorch marks on the molding just to the right of the knob indicating the presence of an electrical current strong enough to harm him should he try the handle.

He is definitely taken aback at the realization that the whole floor is a metal shock pad; that the wires woven into the fibers of the area rugs could send a pulse of electricity through him, strong enough to knock him out.

And he’s horrified at the small groupings of little holes along the ceiling that would allow a gas to be pumped into the room.

He feels his heart start racing.

This isn’t a bedroom.

It’s a prison.

Jason starts to scour the room for something he might be able to use as a weapon or _anything_ that could help them get out. He’s not overly optimistic. Cass checked this room before they dumped him in here and she’s very thorough. But it’s better than sitting around waiting for… whatever, stewing in his own fears.

He hits a roadblock when he comes to a large, locked wardrobe on the opposite side of the room from the window. It’s solid wood, probably reinforced with metal like everything else, and doesn’t budge, even when he throws his body into it.

Still, he tries again. Then a third time.

Jason huffs, a little out of breath and rubs his shoulder while he glares at the thing.

Then he leans his hands against it and starts kicking and kneeing and punching.

He hasn’t seen Bruce since Thomas knocked him out. Hasn’t seen Dick since his crazy, sadistic lookalike carried him away. Jason is desperate to talk to them. He needs to tell Bruce everything is alright, that he’s ok, that nothing is his fault. The old man is probably tearing himself apart, reliving what he considers his failure over and over again. Jason  _needs_ to help him.

And Dick? He doesn’t know what Talon has done to him, but he doesn’t need the specifics. He _needs_ get to his brother, make sure he’s okay.

He _needs_ to snap Cass out of it.

He _needs_ to kill these fuckers.

They _need_ to go home.

All that need collides with the despair, everything bubbling up and out in tears; the emotional turmoil magnified by the very physical aching pain of his body.

After one last kick, he slumps to the floor, only vaguely aware of the blood from his new, self-inflicted wound.

He leans his forehead against his knees and takes a series of deep, slow inhalations. It’s crucial he stay in control. Imperative that he not let all of this overwhelm him.

“I can open it for you. But you’re not going to like what’s inside.”

Jason scrambles to his feet and backs away from the all too familiar voice, putting as much distance between himself and his least favorite version of Dick as possible. For all the good it’ll do him.

Talon just watches him curiously. When the Owl finally moves, it’s to take just three steps nearer, looking around the room wistfully, before holding out a plastic cup filled with water.

When Jason makes no move to take it, Talon sighs. “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink since you got here.” His lips twitch upward. “You know, other than—”

“Yes, thank you, I get it.” Jason snarls, trying to step into the wall at his back.

Suddenly it hits him. Although he’s still not clothed, he is no longer bound. And douche-Dick is standing right there with his pretty, infinitely punchable face.

Talon must see his muscles coil, or the determination settle on his face because he holds up the unoccupied hand, showing Jason his watch.

“I don’t want to hurt you. But you’re bigger than me. And I know you’re well trained, but I don’t know which disciplines. I’m not risking a fight. If you come at me, I’ll have to activate the internal taser.”

Jason stills. “You’re bluffing. You didn’t really—”

“What makes you think we wouldn’t?”

“You would’ve used it by now.”

“Why? All of you have been effectively restrained or drugged until now.”

Jason swallows. This must be what ‘cornered animals’ feel like.

“Look,” Talon tries again, turning his empty hand so that the palm faces outwards pacifyingly, “No one is going to touch you the rest of the night. You need rest. You need to replenish your electrolytes.” He holds out the cup again. “You’re no good to anyone if your health wanes. Not just to me and Thomas and our plans for you, but you certainly won’t be escaping if you’re not in peak condition.”

Just because Jason knows that it’s said to manipulate him into drinking the contents of the cup doesn’t make the statement any less true. Still, he hesitates. He doesn’t trust these people at all.

Talon sighs but keeps his arm out. “Here’s the deal. You drink this, get a good night’s sleep, and in the morning, we’ll let you brush your teeth and take a shower.”

Given how often they shove their tongues down his throat he suspects they were going to let him do the first one anyway. However, from what he’s seen, it wouldn’t surprise him if allowing him to wash them off his body really wasn’t in the plans. There’s a catch. He knows it in his bones. Talon said they wouldn’t touch him the rest of the night. He’s sure his morning shower won’t be a private one.

But more abuse is all but guaranteed. And Jason is covered in the sweat and fluids of four different people, not counting his own. He can feel them every time he moves and regardless of how long it lasts… he really wants to be clean.

Finally, he reaches out and takes the cup. He stares at the innocuous liquid for a moment. There’s a catch to this too. He can feel it in the way Talon watches intently, eyes fixed on him.

Whatever, he thinks as he chugs it down, he’ll handle the consequences… when… they…

The drug, whatever it is, takes effect so quickly Jason barely has time to think ‘ _goddamnit’_ before he tips forward into douche-Dick’s arms.

He’s only vaguely aware of being lifted, carried, a deposited onto the bed, soft lips peppering feather-light kisses all over his face and head, before everything turns to black.


End file.
